Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero
by monoxide girl
Summary: Once upon a time, two boys used to be the best of friends. But time changes everything, and everyone, and now they're two strangers in an old beater Mustang, driving through the night. [AU][Gabriel x Crowley][In Progress]
1. Chapter 1

AN:  
So this fic has actually swallowed my whole life. I have about eleven chapters already written up and I've been basically living on google maps. It's been about a decade since I wrote something chaptered and that might actually be literal.  
A big thank you to my beta/idea wall/general helper singingsin who has put up with me bemoaning this fic, the time line, the music and the era I chose to set it in. It's been a ride and it's not even done wheee.

I'd like to beg forgiveness for any geographical inconsistencies/errors because, lol, I'm from Canada and the farthest south I've been is San Francisco, so…not conducive to writing a fic about the USA? But regardless, I'm going to try.  
oh, unrelated note, i made the decision to change Lucifer's name to Luke for this, just because i sincerely doubt an average family in 1988 would name their son Lucifer. just in case there's some confusion?  
Title is taken directly from 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off' for reasons that will become clear later on?

At any rate, I don't think I have any kind of an update schedule for this but since I have a good chunk of it already written, I'll probably be posting chapter 2 within a few days.

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl_  
_Chapter 01._

To say that he's going out on a limb with this one isn't much of a stretch.

Crowley isn't really one to gamble on much of anything – generally, it's a stupid, reckless way to handle things, to live life by the skin of your teeth, but here he is, at three AM on the Novak family porch as Gabriel blinks sleepily at him.

"Okay, what?"

"Can we explain on the way?" Crowley demands sharply, glancing back over one shoulder warily at the road where his car is parked against the curb, "We aren't exactly rolling in free time here."

"Where am I-?" There's a creak at the top of the stairs and Gabriel sighs tiredly, "Let me get my stuff, okay?"

* * *

They finally park at the high school, out by the bleachers, and Crowley can distantly remember his first year here, the way Gabriel changed – how having his brothers watching his every breath changed him. Being away from Michael and Luke on most days in junior high had done him wonders, but then…

"So what's all this about man? You come knocking on my door at 3 AM, wake me and my brothers up…it better be good. Like, write home, tell the kids—"

"I have to leave."

"—Oh."

The silence that settles over the car is a little awkward and Gabriel tugs at a loose thread on his jeans. Crowley idly watches him as he tries to distract himself. Gabriel always was a fidgety bastard.

"It's…complicated. Well," Crowley exhales, "Not complicated, per say, but it's hard to explain, and I don't have a lot of time."

"It's that shady shit you're involved in, isn't it?" Gabriel presses, giving him a bit of a look. He rolls his eyes and glares at the dashboard, slouching a bit in his seat to prop his feet up. His knees bend at an awkward angle and Crowley frowns more; "I've heard things dude. I'm not completely out of touch with the rumour mill."

"Could have fooled me. Thought Michael didn't want you associating with…ah, what were his exact words? Trash, was it?"

"Fuck Michael."

It occurs to Crowley, then, that people don't really change – this Gabriel, at eighteen, less gangly, less awkward limbs and fewer easy, open smiles is the same as the nine year old Gabriel that he befriended that one lonely Saturday night in late August. He's still on his brother's leash, even if he's told himself he isn't, that Michael and Luke, both graduated, older and wiser, didn't have a choke chain on him.

"Yes, well," Crowley sighs, and his hands curl tighter on the steering wheel, "I thought I'd say goodbye."

"Why?"

Gabriel's looking at him – the streetlamps cast weird, eerie shadows over his face, hollowing out his cheekbones and Crowley huffs a laugh, "That's generally what social protocol dictates, Gabriel."

"Fuck social protocol, for one thing," Gabriel comments, "And you know what I mean."

"Do I now?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

His tone is firm, but Gabriel is smiling and Crowley pushes down at the happy tug in his chest. Gabriel is stupidly handsome, his whole damn family is really, bloody wankers – Michael is firm, hard lines, authoritative, with dark hair and bright blue eyes like a clear sky in November and Luke is the softer contrast, feathery blond hair and darker blues. Castiel takes after Michael, too, just younger, less firm, still the baby in a family of adults.

Gabriel, though…

"Right. Well…we," Crowley sighs and thinks then that he ought to stop. Sighing dramatically made him sound like a bloody idiot; "We used to be friends."

Something flickers in Gabriel's eyes, hurt, maybe, but it hardens over and God, he looks like Michael when he does that, when he stands up straight to the things that bother him and he never used to do that, when did this happen? Again it occurs to him that he doesn't really know this boy, this boy who used to be his very best friend.

"Yeah? Doesn't explain why I'm sitting in your car in a parking lot at…" He glances at the dashboard clock, "Four AM."

"I thought you'd like to know that I'm going and I'm not coming back, Gabriel."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

The silence that descends on the car isn't the easy, comfortable silences that he's used to with Gabriel. It's hard and awkward and uncomfortable, the kind that eases in to all the empty spaces and sucks out all the life, that drains at you and Crowley rubs his hands over the steering wheel and doesn't say a word, just glares out the windshield at the football field, at the dew on the grass, the white lines of the end zone.

"Besides," Gabriel says finally, "I'm coming with you."


	2. Chapter 2

AN:  
Whee another chapter up!  
Not much else to add, except yet another thank you to my lovely beta/living motivational poster! And a big thank you to everyone who's taken the time out to at least skim this, especially if you've added it to your favourites/watch alert or whatever it's called.

I'm posting two chapters tonight. Because I can.

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 02._

Crowley is a man of business.

Mind you, in high school, there is little business to be had, besides less than _legal_ ventures. Teenagers want what they can't have and he's always been outstandingly careful to keep his deals – his prices are fair, but competitive, and his clients get service with a smile. That, and he isn't a burnout, constantly sampling his own product.

One of the downsides of being a good business man, however, is that toes that are bound to be stepped on.

That's where Abaddon Knight comes in to it.

A good businesswoman, herself, though a bit ruthless; a woman in this trade is rare enough, but one that did more than deal to scared tenth graders who wanted a good hit of acid is even rarer. She played in the big leagues and Crowley, well…its good money and college isn't cheap.

Maybe that's why he got stupid. Maybe that's why when Abaddon sauntered up to him after fourth period, all soft curves and sweet smiles, he more or less told her to go fuck her mother. Though, in much nicer terms, because he didn't talk to ladies like that. But, still, that's probably why she'd carved 'you're dead' in to his locker and why he saw her, sitting on his porch when he got home from class. Why she'd made her intents very clear. Why he'd decided that, fuck this, self-preservation meant more.

They're parked in a mom-and-pop gas station just outside of Barstow, Gabriel dozing in the front seat while Crowley glares at the nearest payphone like it might answer all his problems and call Michael Novak for him. This is his best friend. His only friend, really, spare Alistair, Lilith and the odd client that he got too familiar with. This is also the same boy who drifted away from him as soon as they hit tenth grade, discarding him and their six year friendship like it was just a passing hobby he grew bored with.

"So, you going to tell me what's happened or are we just going to drive blindly in to the sunset, Bonnie?"

Crowley makes a face, "I didn't ask you to come along Gabriel."

It's just after six now and the sun has just crept up over the horizon and bathing the world in a muted blue light. Next to him, Gabriel sits up a bit straighter and stretches as much as the car will let him. Maybe running was a dumb idea - but Abaddon is a crazy bitch and she'd told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he didn't stop selling, she'd stop him from breathing. You don't question the validity of those kinds of statements.

"You didn't have to," Gabriel remarks, slumping back in his seat a bit more, "I got it. But you owe me an explanation now. Regardless."

If it were a normal day, he'd be getting ready for class. Breakfast, his stomach reminds him, it's breakfast time. Crowley squishes it down and glances at Gabriel again.

"I don't owe you a damn thing Gabriel," he finds himself saying, even though he doesn't really mean it. How does he tell him? He fucked up. He miscalculated. And his mom may not be much more than a deadbeat, but Abaddon knew that she at least existed now, and that put her in danger if he stuck around. Crowley doesn't know how far her influence reaches, she's only eighteen as far as he knows, but she's pretty and very smart and ambitious, and in women, that's a dangerous combination; "you made your decision but it's not too late to take it back."

Gabriel sighs, "You'd be friggin' lost without me. I have to stay."

Crowley just rolls his eyes and undoes his seatbelt, climbing out of the driver's seat, "I'm getting coffee."

"Dude, get me a cinnamon bun!"

* * *

They drive until the late morning when Gabriel's whining for a pee break and brunch finally get too insistent to ignore. He's like a bloody retriever, Crowley thinks to himself, watching as his friend polishes off a short stack of pancakes with way too much maple syrup.

"Where are we even going?" Gabriel asks after a mouthful of juice, "any plans for this little road trip?"

"Away."

"Descriptive," Gabriel deadpans, making a bit of a face, "Though, I hear 'Away' is fantastic this time of year. Really nice weather."

Crowley rolls his eyes. Gabriel presses on.

"But seriously. Money? School? What about those things?"

"School?" Crowley repeats, "What about it?"

"Uh, you haven't graduated? And I haven't either. I mean, I know you can get by without a diploma and all that but I...are we just going to drop out forever?"

It's too late to turn back now. They'd been gone for too long now, and suddenly returning would raise more questions than he'd want to answer. No, until he figured out a countermeasure to Abaddon's threats, he had to leave. For his mom's sake. And, more importantly, for his own sake because he's heard not breathing was exceptionally bad for your health. He decides not to answer Gabriel; he just waves the waitress down for the bill.

* * *

They're in the middle of nowhere when Gabriel demands that they stop at the next gas station with a pay phone.

"You can't call Michael, Gabriel. Or Luke. Or even Castiel."

"I have to."

"No, you don't," Crowley corrects, with all the patience of an exasperated mother, "You said it yourself. Fuck Michael."

"He's my brother."

"Oh, come off it," He shoots back and if his tone is less exasperated, more pissed off, well, he can't really be blamed for that, "He's your bloody gatekeeper."

"We really going to do this now?"

Gabriel's voice is surprisingly even and calm and Crowley actually pulls the car off the road so he can shift around and face him properly.

"Why not. Been a long time coming anyway, hasn't it?"

Gabriel's jaw clenches; Crowley watches the movement of his muscles under his skin and thinks, distantly, it'd be attractive if they both weren't so angry at one another. And that's saying something, because Gabriel doesn't (or didn't, people change) get mad at things. But he looks pretty mad right now.

"Why did you even come see me?"

"Oh, bloody hell..."

"No, really," Gabriel just plows on and this is a little more familiar because, if nothing else, Gabriel has a disturbing lack of tact when it comes to social situations. His terrible habit of plunging in to things head first got them in to a lot of trouble as kids, even if his brothers made sure that he and Castiel were both polite to a fault, well behaved, _good_ kids. It's probably easier to disconnect them from their father if they're polite and respectful at least half of the time, which is not exactly a bad idea; "We've barely talked to one another in, what, three years?"

He's not wrong.

Crowley rolls his eyes anyway, "And whose fault is that? Certainly not mine."

"Oh, of course not."

"You can't _possibly_ blame me for this," He snaps back at him and he's tempted to throw his arms up in the air because yeah, Gabriel's a nice enough guy but he's a pain in the ass, "_You_ are the one who stopped talking to _me_, if you've already forgotten. _You_ abandoned _me_, Gabriel."

"Because you started hanging out with all those burn-out stoner kids! Lilith? Alistair? Remember? Michael found out and he threatened to ship me off. I didn't have any _choice_."

"Oh, come off it," Crowley turns away from him and steadies his hands on the steering wheel before he eventually puts the car in to gear and pulls away from the side of the road, "There's always a choice. You're just too cowardly to tell your brothers to sod off and mind their own business. You're mostly a grown up. Listening to them is entirely optional at this point and yet you insist on doing just that. It's ridiculous. Also, please don't refer to my friends as burn-outs."

"Mostly?"

He would latch on to that.

"Yes. Mostly."

"How is someone _mostly_ a grown up?"

"I don't know, Gabriel. You tell me."

Silence. Crowley wonders if he's pushed too hard this time. Then, "Where are we even going?"

"I don't know yet."

"I'm not joking," Gabriel doesn't sound like he's joking, Crowley thinks he sounds irritable and crabby and he supposes that's what happens when you wake someone up at 3 AM and then set off on a cross-country road trip without any real warning; "Where the fuck are we driving to. You don't want me telling my brothers where I am, fine. But at least fucking tell me where we're going."

The destination honestly hadn't occurred to Crowley. His plan had consisted of get into car and drive the fuck out of LA as fast as possible. He'd considered Las Vegas. New York. Somewhere away that he could hide out at until he figured out what to do about Abaddon. But now he's got a passenger and, really, he should explain something to Gabriel. It's only fair.

But he still doesn't know what to tell him.

"Would you just trust me?"

Crowley expects that to end the discussion – they used to trust each other, implicitly, without any second thought or worry. He could depend on Gabriel, did depend on him, and believed in what they had. He would have taken a bullet for that hyperactive little shit. So he expects Gabriel to agree, apologize, and go along with the ride like originally planned.

Instead, he's met with silence.

So he glances over at Gabriel, in the passenger seat, and he's staring at him like he's grown a third head and it's gone and bitten him on the nose.

"Trust you?" Gabriel repeats, and something cold uncurls in the pit of Crowley's belly, "I barely know you, dude."


	3. Chapter 3

AN:  
and here's the second chapter i promised! score.

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 03._

The rest of the driving is done in absolute silence.

Gabriel tries for the radio just outside of this little town called Primm, but Crowley just leans over and shuts it off the second the first few words of 'Get out of my Dreams, and in to my Car' filter through his car's speakers. Gabriel glares, but doesn't argue. But eventually, the silence gets to be uncomfortable and Crowley yanks the car to the side of the road again and breathes out slowly.

He feels like he should discuss this with Gabriel.

Like he needs to prove to him that he's the same dude he was back in their first year of high school, but that's not terribly accurate. He _is_ different – so is Gabriel. Time did that; distance did that. Gabriel isn't an idiot, he should know that.

But still, neither of them say a word.

Gabriel glares at the dust as it settles back on the roadside, arms folded across his chest, body slouched into the passenger seat like if he slumps low enough, the chair will eventually open up and swallow him alive. Crowley can relate.

"Are we going to Las Vegas?"

The sign indicating how far Vegas is looms ahead of them, proudly proclaiming the number of miles like conquering them is a victory, a big battle that needs to be won. He considered Las Vegas. Easy to blend in. He's also considered Detroit and Nowhereville, Kansas, and New York, so considering something doesn't really mean too much in this case.

Crowley sighs, "I guess we are."

"Cool."

* * *

Las Vegas isn't really different than LA.

Crowley isn't surprised by that. What does surprise him is the way that Gabriel's whole face lights up – sure, it's only two in the afternoon and the city is still sort of dozing but he gets this _look_ in his eyes and Crowley remembers the intense feeling of dread that gleam used to instil in him. It still does.

But, on the bright side, for the first time since they left LA, he looks happy.

They try for a couple hotels right down on the strip but they're either full or too far out their price range, so they settle on a small, one bed room two blocks down the street. Crowley isn't entirely convinced that the room isn't swimming in infectious diseases, but Gabriel doesn't even bat an eyelash before he goes right in and tosses his duffel on to the mattress.

"Dibs."

Crowley glances disdainfully down at the floor and then, carefully, steps past the threshold to set his bag down on the bed, "No way. I'm not sleeping on the floor. We can share."

"Jeez, at least buy me a drink first," Gabriel shoots him a grin and then a wink and Crowley swears that that didn't just make his stomach flip-flop. Not at all; "You should have splurged and got a room with _two_ beds."

Crowley snorts, "Might have been easier if you had contributed some funds to this little vacation, you know."

"I would love to," He says, casually, pulling his shirt off over his head to toss onto the bed. Typical, Crowley thinks, while making a serious point not to look at his chest, "But I didn't think we'd go running off like this, Bonnie. I left all my spare cash at home."

Crowley knows exactly where, too – Gabriel used to hide his money in a mason jar under a loose floorboard in his bedroom closet, where three nosey brothers and anyone else wasn't apt to find it. The last time he saw that jar, there was close to eight-hundred dollars squirreled away, from birthdays and the meager allowance that Michael dutifully doled out to the family. They'd been eleven, pressed together in the muggy confines of Gabriel's closet, and Gabriel had looked at him with a seriousness that Crowley was unused to. If something happens, he'd whispered, pressing the jar to Crowley's hands, you have to take this. Make sure Castiel's taken care of, okay?

They'd even spit-shaken on it, much to Crowley's immense disgust. Which, he suspects, had something to with Gabriel's insistence on the barbaric little tradition.

"Yes, well, that's why we're doomed to a single bed. Good going."

Gabriel makes a show of rolling his eyes, the drama queen, and then pads his way into the bathroom. A second later, the lock clicks shut and all that's left is the sound of the shower, drumming against the tile.

* * *

Finding a place that's affordable to eat is a bit more complicated.

Gabriel isn't exactly a picky eater, but he requires dessert and sometimes he eats enough to feed a small country. Their budget is small enough as it is, and he has no doubt that Michael has reported his baby brother missing to the authorities, so even taking money out of the ATM is unnecessarily risky – Michael, and Luke for that matter, are far from stupid and they would know that he's behind their brother's disappearance.

So they settle on a little hole in the wall diner across the street and Crowley prays that he and Gabriel don't get food poisoning from this little adventure.

(To his pleasant surprise, the food is decent and cheap enough that he can even treat Gabriel to a piece of chocolate cake that they share. It feels like childhood all over again, leaning over the table to sweep their forks in the remnants of chocolate icing and if his heart stutters to a stop when Gabriel leans over and swipes some chocolate syrup off the side of his lip with his pinkie... well, no one had to know about that part, right?)

They spend the rest of the night cruising around the strip – Gabriel drags him to all the nice hotels and they peek into the lobbies and the tacky gift shops with cheesy T-shirts and stupid fridge magnets and Crowley thinks he spends more time watching his friend than actually looking at anything. Gabriel's always had an energy that was infectious, that spread and burned bright and he's not sure how he forgot about it. His eyes gleam in the blinking street signs and at some point, Gabriel twines his fingers with his and it seems more natural than it ought to. The night air is warm, and Crowley decides then that maybe he ought to thank Abaddon for shoving them back together.

* * *

Gabriel is dead to the world asleep, his hand still tight in his, when Crowley slides out of bed and goes out into the warm Nevada air. He makes one call to the LA police on the payphone and then goes back to bed, content with his decision. At the least, he can take Gabriel home and be sure that Abaddon wouldn't be bothering them for a long while.

Meanwhile, two hundred and thirty miles away, the LA police knock on the Knight Family front door and bring one very furious Abaddon down to the station for questioning.

* * *

Crowley wakes up to the sound of high pitched chattering coming from the TV.

At first, he's immensely concerned that mice have gotten in and are now picking the skin from Gabriel's bones. Then, belatedly, he realizes that no, Gabriel's fine, stretched out next to him, watching said high pitched chattering.

"…What's all this?"

"Oh, morning!"

"Chipmunks, Gabriel. Really?"

"What?" A grin slowly creeps across his face, "Alvin is _such_ a little bastard. It's awesome."

Crowley glares and resists the urge to fling a pillow at him. Instead, he opts to bury down further, which he immediately regrets when he clues in to the fact that the motel pillow doesn't exactly smell fresh. He sits up, rubs a hand through his hair and turns to look at Gabriel, who is watching him, looking more amused than any person should at…Jesus, nine in the morning.

He looks stupidly content, propped up on his pillows, blankets tangled around his legs so one socked foot peeked out, and after a moment, he looks back to the TV and thumbs the volume back up. Alvin keeps chattering and Crowley groans.

"You need better taste in TV."

"Be glad I didn't put on Casa Erotica."

Another groan, "I'm surprised you didn't."

"I considered it. But it might have been weird. Right?"

"Definitely."

* * *

Gabriel doesn't know exactly what he's doing.

Well, he does – he's watching some KKK dudes on _Geraldo_ but he's not really listening. He's keeping his eye mostly on Crowley as he pours over a map of the southwestern United States and he supposes that they're not staying in Vegas for very long, which is a shame because Gabriel likes Vegas. The problem is that he doesn't really get _why _he's doing it. He honestly doesn't know why he decided to tag along with Crowley like he did. Impulsive has always sort of been his thing, granted, but generally within some sort of reason. Running off at 4 AM with his ex-best friend with no word or warning went far beyond the limits of reason. But, for whatever reason, seeing Crowley out there, alone and kind of panicked…it had made him wish things were like they used to be.

Crowley's nose scrunches a bit as he scrutinizes the map and Gabriel tries, unsuccessfully, to swallow past the lump in his throat.

He doesn't know what he's been up to, not exactly, but he's heard whispers from his friends, from other students, that if you wanted a good fix, then Crowley MacLeod was the man to go see. He was fair, discreet, and willing to bargain. Gabriel had considered talking to him about it, to test the validity of the rumour mill, but in the end he could never muster the courage to do it.

Maybe a lack of courage has been his problem for a long time.

"I'm going to get a soda."

Crowley hums what might be consent. The afternoon air is warm as he wanders off toward the vending machine – that is, until the payphone catches his eye. It only takes Gabriel a few moments of internal debate to make up his mind and he hurries over and plugs a quarter in before dialing home. It rings once, then twice, and Gabriel considers hanging up, because fuck, this is taking too long, Crowley won't-

"Hello?"

"Michael?"

"Gabriel?"

"Luke!"

"Yeah, Gabriel, it's—Michael, _wait_," Luke sounds impatient and Gabriel can see them all in the living room, Michael straining to get the phone, Luke looking unimpressed, as per usual. Maybe Castiel is there, maybe Chuck—"Gabriel, where are you?"

"I'm okay."

Luke sighs, "That's not what I asked you, Gabriel. Where are you?"

"I can't tell you."

"This isn't funny, Gabriel. Where are you? I'll come get you. I'll make sure Michael waits here."

Gabriel appreciates the gesture, he does, but it doesn't make a difference. Ultimately, he made this decision, to trail along after Crowley like his lost puppy, because he had to. He had to leave – he had to be on his own, for once, just for a little while. And now…well, now he's definitely not going home, not without Crowley.

"Luke, I can't."

His brother exhales, soft, and he can see him turn his back to Michael, block him out, and when he speaks, his voice his quiet, "Are you with him?"

"…yeah."

"Did something happen?"

"I don't know. I think so."

"Are you safe?"

"Totally."

"Are you far away?"

"No," Gabriel runs his hands through his hair, pushes it off his slightly sweaty forehead and leans against the cool glass of the phone booth, "…Vegas. But we're heading out soon, I think."

Luke hums, "Okay."

He thinks he hears Michael protesting in the background but his brother does a good job of drowning it out and shushing him.

"Look, I'm…I'm almost out of time and I don't have any quarters. He doesn't know I called. Please, don't be angry and don't worry about me. I'm fine, Luke. Really. Eating good. Brushing my teeth. All that. Okay? And tell-"

"Gabriel!" Michael's voice cuts him off, but he sounds distant. The phone in the kitchen; "Gabriel, you get home _right now_ and we'll talk about what century you'll be ungrounded in! You get home—"

Gabriel hangs up before Michael can finish his sentence.


	4. Chapter 4

AN:

I wasn't going to post another chapter until the weekend, but here we are.

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 04._

The first thing that Crowley notices when Gabriel trudges back in is that he has no soda.

The second is that he looks absolutely, positively miserable.

"Out of Dr. Pepper?"

"Huh?" He sinks down onto the bed and Crowley sets his pen down, "Oh. Yeah. Only tonic water left in the machine. Totally lame, right?"

"…Very," Crowley stands and moves to ease down next to him, "…You called them, didn't you?"

"Dude, I had to."

"And?"

"Michael's mad," Gabriel says, even as Crowley slowly loops an arm around his shoulders. The gesture is a little awkward, but after a moment, Gabriel leans into it and settles his head onto his shoulder; "Luke's a little more understanding, but that's not really new."

Luke is understanding for now, Crowley wants to say, because he knows those two and eventually, he'd move to side with his twin, but not until Gabriel put all his trust in him. It's not a new tactic for him, and Crowley knew that it crushed Gabriel when he was twelve. It won't be any better now, he's sure.

"You still want to do this?"

"Absolutely."

And Crowley believes him.

* * *

They decide to enjoy the strip for one last night before they continue driving. To where, neither of them are really sure, but Gabriel's not asking and Crowley is thankful to have his trust at least in that regard.

The air is humid and too warm as they weave through the crowd of bodies pushing to get into the casinos and that's when Crowley spots her, the tangled curl of her auburn hair and the bright red smear of her lips.

Abaddon.

For a brief second, Crowley prays that she won't see them.

But she turns just in time and realization flickers over her expression. She elbows the guy she's with, a big burly dude Crowley had seen her climb into cars with and her lips are splitting into a feral smile. Gabriel, blissfully ignorant, keeps walking and Crowley barely has enough time to grab his arm and jerk him backwards.

"Whoa! Hey!"

"Let's go this way."

He doesn't wait for an agreement. Hell, he doesn't even wait for a response, he just starts dragging Gabriel along, shoving aside a herd of old women, presumably visiting from their retirement castle to play some keno.

"Jesus, Crowley! What the—sorry, ladies! Crowley!"

"Come _on_!"

"Holy shit, is that Abaddon?"

"_Gabriel_!"

He yanks him down one side street, and then another, weaves down one alley and then comes back out on the strip. He looks left, then right, and carries on, dragging Gabriel along after him, opting to ignore his friend's angry protests. The sign for their hotel looms in the distance and Crowley just prays for no more distractions, no more interruptions. They need to get into the room, gather their shit, and hit the road as fast as possible, before Abaddon figured out where they vanished off to.

He fumbles with the key for a moment before he bursts into the room and drags Gabriel in.

"Dude, what the _hell_."

Crowley just shoves his duffle bag at him, "Pack. Now."

"Dude…"

"_Now_, Gabriel."

He does as he's told, reluctantly shoving things into his bag, but he keeps throwing him sideways glances. He knows he's going to have to explain, at some point, but now is hardly the time for it and he finishes packing in record time, hefting his own bag onto one shoulder. Gabriel's just zipping his shut when he suddenly stops, folds his arms across his chest and lifts an eyebrow.

"I'm not going anywhere until you explain why the hell we're running away from _Abaddon_."

Goddamnit.

"Later, Gabriel."

"No, now."

"No."

"Then we're not going."

Crowley has to bite down on his tongue to keep from screaming. Instead, he sighs, very heavily, and scrubs a hand over his face to try and compose himself. Time is ticking – Abaddon knows what kind of car he drives, and bitterly, he thinks he may have to ditch the damn thing or risk being found. Which is a shame, because he _likes_ his car.

"Can we do this at another time?"

"No."

"_Gabriel_."

"You're more than welcome to leave without me, but I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me what I should be knowing. Why are we running from Abaddon?"

He knows he can't leave Gabriel here, not now that they'd been seen together. It wouldn't be safe – God knows what Abaddon's people would do to him if they got a hand on him. They'd do it to spite him; they'd do it to _find him_. And Crowley really can't have that, so he puts his bag down and settles on glaring.

"Because she hates me."

"Why?"

"How should I know?"

Gabriel sits on the bed. Crowley has to resist the urge to grab him and drag him out the door. But he's not budging and Crowley hates him, just a little, for being so goddamn stupidly stubborn and blind and _damn it!_

"You do know and this is why I don't know you anymore," Gabriel snips back at him, and Crowley feels a little twist of guilt, very small, in the pit of his belly, "You used to tell me absolutely everything. Now you're running off in the middle of the night and pissing off angry drug dealers and seriously, what the hell is going on with you. And I want the truth, not the bullshit you tell your mom and the counsellors, Crowley, because I deserve _better_ than that. I deserve, at the very least, the respect to get the truth about you _from you_."

"Like you respected me enough to tell me why you suddenly weren't my friend anymore?"

"Don't. This has-"

"This has everything to do with that, you moron!" Crowley shouts, throwing his bag down with a thud, "it always has! This is…never mind. We have to go."

Gabriel doesn't budge. He just leans back and challenges him, in the way that he always has, to do something about his stubborn behaviour and Crowley could slap that look off his face. He'd been tempted to, before – instead he stalks forward, fists his hands into his shirt and hauls him back to his feet and Gabriel lets him, he knows he does, because Gabriel has two older brothers and physical threats have never phased him. He has a mean right hook and he can take a punch and he knows how to go absolutely, completely dead-weight to avoid being moved when he doesn't want to, so Crowley knows he's letting him get away with this display of dominance.

"We're leaving."

"You're leaving then. I'm not going without an explanation."

"I hate you when you're like this, you know that?" Crowley spits, and he doesn't mean it, but Gabriel's eyes darken and his lips curl in to a snarl, "You stubborn fucking doughnut."

"Good."

"Get your bag and get in the car, Gabriel."

"No."

"Oh, so, you only listen to demands when it's Michael or Luke giving them? You'll be a little bitch for your big brothers but not for your ex-best friend, is that—"

Gabriel socks him one in the mouth.

He just swings his fist and knocks his knuckles into his jaw and Crowley lets go and stumbles back as pain explodes across his face and he can taste blood so he's pretty sure he bit down on something, like his tongue or his lips. Gabriel is still glaring at him but it's different than before, less stubborn and more hurt rage.

"Don't you _ever _presume to know what's going on," He snarls, "My family is _none_ of your concern so don't you _ever_ talk about them. Not anymore. You don't get that right. And how dare you call me your _ex_ best friend, you piece of shit. I dropped everything and went running away with you at 4 AM with no explanation as to _why_, so don't you ever call me an ex-friend. I'm _here_, aren't I?"

Damnit, this could be going better.

Gabriel grabs his bag though, hefts it over one shoulder, and stalks out of the room, slamming the door so hard it bounces open again and Crowley watches his back as he goes, rounding the corner to the parking lot, rubbing idly at the sore spot on his jaw. He'd have a bruise for sure.

"Didn't have to hit me, Christ."


	5. Chapter 5

AN:  
Sorry this took so long to get posted. Work has been a bit hectic and I just haven't had the time to do a read through or any editing so. This is about as close to raw as its going to get, since I just want to get this up and out into the world.  
Not much in the way of plot development here, but there's a tiny bit so enjoy?

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 05._

They drive in silence out of Las Vegas.

There's a whole lot of nothing around them as they pass through Henderson. They stop to fuel up at a Texaco station in Boulder City and Crowley keeps checking over his shoulder as he fills the car – Gabriel wastes a bit of time in the store, cruising the aisles as he dumps candy and pop into the little basket he's picked for himself. He takes entirely too long but Crowley can't bring himself to drag him out of the store so they can get a move on.

When he finally does come out, he just gets back into the car, slumps in his seat, and rips open an Oh Henry to eat in sulky silence. Crowley doesn't ask if there's anything in the bag for him, but when he opens the driver's side door there's a Snickers sitting on his seat and something that might be guilt twists at his gut.

He keeps driving though, quiet except for the lull of the radio as it struggles to hold on to a signal – eventually, it fades out and all that's left is noise and the quiet rumble of the engine and the odd rustle of candy wrappers as Gabriel works his way through a bag of Sour Patch Kids. They roll past Hoover Dam and Gabriel does perk up a bit at the prospect of doing something touristy, but the sun is vanishing in their rear view mirror and Crowley doesn't so much as slow down.

He pretends he doesn't hear the angry huff next to him.

They make it as far as Kingman, Arizona when Crowley decides they've gone far enough to be safe, at least for the time being. At some point, Gabriel dozed off and he leans over and nudges him a little.

"Gabriel. We're here."

He gets a mumble and swatted at for his efforts. So Crowley just huffs out a breath and goes to book them a room – the cash he has in his pocket is rapidly dwindling away, and he knows that it won't be long until they're sleeping in the car and probably starving on top of it and, well, isn't that just a fucking peachy thought?

He come back out to Gabriel, sitting on the hood of the car, staring up at the darkened sky – the stars are just coming out, the desert air still warm from the afternoon and he tips his head forward to look at him.

"I'm sorry I hit you."

"I probably deserved it," Crowley admits, sitting himself down next to him. Gabriel's hand snakes out and curls around his – his fingers are cool and smooth and they twine with his and squeeze. Crowley bites down a smile; "But I forgive you."

"You definitely deserved it."

He's reminded of the summers back home, the muggy July air and the thrum of the city, Gabriel's gap-toothed smile and those bright honey-brown eyes, the way his nose wrinkled when he really grinned and his laugh, infectious and contagious, the way his fingers were always sticky and the way he seemed to buzz with uncontainable energy. He remembers sitting on the Novak porch, thumbing through Spiderman comics as Gabriel rambled on, twisted tales and stories of things that couldn't be real. And, then, the quiet moments, under that same porch, the earth cool under their bare feet, Gabriel twining their pinky fingers together and whispering promises that they'd be friends forever, until the end of days, no matter what.

And then that August night, two weeks before high school when Gabriel kissed him – they'd both been sort of drunk on too much of Michael's beer and Luke's homemade Sangria. Gabriel's lips had been sticky sweet and something had shifted, like it's shifted now.

"I'm glad you're here."

Gabriel's thumb eases over the skin of his knuckles, "I'm glad I'm here."

Crowley moves in a little closer, so their knees bump and Gabriel glances at him, sideways, and then smiles, a little. He's changed, Crowley thinks. He's got less explosive energy, bursting and thrumming under his skin. He's not sure when he grew up without him. They sit in relative silence for a while longer, until Gabriel slides off the hood of the car. He eases the key from his free hand before he runs a hand through his hair and moves wordlessly toward their hotel room, swinging the keyring around his pinky finger. Crowley lingers outside for a while longer, watching the stars blink into view until the air gets just cool enough that he has to go inside.

Gabriel's already asleep, or he's damn good at pretending he is, and Crowley undresses without a word, draping his shirt over the back of a nearby chair before he crawls into bed next to him, turning his back to him. It's silent and still, spare the distant rush of traffic and the chirp of crickets – he thinks he hears a train horn, too, maybe. Then the bed shifts, creaks and groans, and then a nose is pressing to the hairline at the back of his neck and when he looks back, he's met with a face full of Gabriel. Slowly, his arm winds around his middle and his forehead pushes to the bare exposed slope of Crowley's shoulder as his fingers splay flat against his belly. Crowley gives him at least that, quiet until he turns to face him again, and then Gabriel's pressing into his personal space, crowding into it, tucking his head under his chin and tangling their legs together. It's surprisingly intimate but it's not, it's familiar somehow – he knows all his hard angles and slow curves like a map.

He dozes off with a nose full of Gabriel's hair and his body pressed firm to his and it's probably the best sleep he's had in months, if not years.

* * *

Crowley expects Gabriel to be awake when he finally opens his eyes. There's spring sunshine filtering in through the blinds, bathing the room in a warm glow. But when he glances down, his face is still pressed to his throat and his breathing is even and slow, his arm still heavy against his ribcage and Crowley can't help the little smile that turns his lips upwards.

This is also the morning that Crowley learns Gabriel is part octopus.

He may be lacking in the limbs but the four he has are firmly around him and keeping him from doing anything and by the time he does finally wiggle out of his iron grip, he's exhausted and ready to climb back in to bed. But then Gabriel's blinking awake, sitting up a bit on one elbow.

"Nice bedhead."

"Is it as nice as your dried drool?" Gabriel asks, flopping out onto his back to stretch out across the mattress. Crowley makes a face, but wipes at his cheek anyway and Gabriel chuckles; "Made you wipe."

"You're a horse's arse, you know that?"

He rolls again, this time onto his belly, and props his head in his hand, "Oh? Am I? Do go on!"

Crowley ends the conversation by throwing Gabriel's jacket at him and Gabriel's laughter follows him into the bathroom, even above the spray of water as he turns on the shower.

* * *

When he comes back out, Gabriel is right where he left him, flicking idly through the TV channels. Crowley stands and watches him silently from the bathroom doorway as he flips from channel two and goes right through, not slowing to even register what is on the screen. Eventually, he gets back to channel two, but he keeps going and the whole thing seems sort of bizarre but, then again, Gabriel has always been sort of bizarre, so he doesn't know why he's the least bit baffled by it.

"So, any idea where we're going next, Mon Capitan?"

"...What?"

"I'm going to go out on a limb here," Gabriel sets the remote down and sits up a bit, "and suggest we're not sticking around in Kingman for long. So, my question is, where are we going next?"

Silence.

"Have you even considered it?"

He had, truthfully, but all his ideas kind of consisted of driving along the I-40 until they ran out of road and then they could disappear in to some big city at the end of it all and forge out a life there, maybe together, maybe not. He folds his arms across his chest. Gabriel just watches, expectant.

"Does it matter?"

"Well, it's not like Abaddon is going to just give up because we ran away from her. She's going to follow us. She's kind of stubborn like that, you know."

Gabriel talks like he's intimate with her, like this little detail about her is common knowledge, something he _should _know. Crowley moves to get a clean shirt out of his duffel and he hears him huff, quietly frustrated.

"And you're the expert all of a sudden?"

"_Duh_," Gabriel responds as he turns back to his channel surfing, "Luke and her are friends. She's slept over at our place hundreds of times. I think they dated for a bit…but I don't know for sure or anything. He always denied it when I bugged him about it. Part of me thinks he did it to piss Michael off since you know how he is."

Crowley drops his shirt. He doesn't mean to, but it slips out of his hands and he's staring at Gabriel, kind of slack jawed, "And you didn't tell me this sooner…because?"

"Why would I?" Gabriel demands, but he sounds bored regardless, like this topic is so below him it's painful, "I didn't know it was relevant information until we were running frantically down the streets of Las Vegas. Maybe if you had _told me_ more about why we're running, I would have."

There's a long silence and then Crowley just goes back to rummaging through his bag, "Get ready, would you. We're leaving in an hour."


	6. Chapter 6

AN: two chapters today since i haven't posted anything and guilt is a bit of a bitch. Enjoy friends and readers!

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 06._

It's too damn hot in the desert, Crowley decides.

He's got the windows cranked down so warm spring air floods the cab but it doesn't really help. His shirt is sticking to his back and the wind is ruffling his hair into a total disaster but he can't stand it to be closed. Beside him, Gabriel's got his feet up on the dash, slumped down a bit in his seat, his foot bobbing with the beat of the music that's sort of filtering through his speakers. It might be George Michael, but Crowley isn't entirely sure. The landscape is considerably less barren with more and more trees popping up, but it's still kind of a bore and he sighs and flexes his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Can we go to the Grand Canyon?"

When he glances away from the road, Gabriel is watching him, the end of a lollipop sticking out between his lips. His eyes are bright in the early afternoon sunshine and Crowley's not sure how he didn't notice his freckles before but he's seeing them now and-

"What?"

"The Grand Canyon," He repeats, making a vague gesture to a sign advertising the turn off just before it whizzes past them, "You've already deprived me of Hoover Dam. You have to give me the Grand Canyon. I've always wanted to see it!"

"…Since when?"

"Since just now!" He lets his feet slide off the dash then as he sits up, "Come on. An hour break won't kill us. Who knows, might help us. If Abaddon's following us, it might give us just enough time for her to get ahead of us."

"You seriously want to go to the Grand Canyon?"

"Hell yeah I do!"

"…Fine."

* * *

The hype about the Grand Canyon is not over-exaggerated.

Crowley is kind of glad that they didn't miss it – sure, it's out of the way but the look on Gabriel's face as he gazes out at the massive canyon is totally worth any extra expenses it may incur. It seems endless, stretching as far as his eye can see, until eventually it vanishes in to the horizon and melds in with the sky, and Crowley feels decidedly tiny, insignificant in comparison. They're at a lookout called Yavapai Point, Gabriel leaning forward as far as he can as people mill about them and there's something simple about this, about doing this, and their situation is complicated but somehow, like this, he can believe that it might get better.

"Told you it was worth it."

Gabriel's looking at him now, smiling, and something warm settles low in Crowley's belly, spreads comfortably through his limbs, "You did."

"You doubted me, didn't you?"

"Me? Nah. Never," He steps closer to slide an arm around Gabriel's shoulders and pull him a bit closer. Their hips bump together; "Not for a second."

Gabriel snorts, "Right."

"I swear I never doubted you. I never have."

And he, strangely enough, means that – right from the second they met, that one night when they were nine and believed anything was possible. It had been the kind of meeting that nobody would write home about, simple, yet surprisingly fantastic and unique, the sort of things that happened in those ridiculous romantic comedies Lilith watched with him on quiet nights in. Just another muggy night in LA, a new city for Crowley but old and familiar for Gabriel and they'd just sort of spotted each other at opposite ends of the bleachers at a local baseball diamond at the end of a decade. Gabriel had looked at him and something had sparked in his eyes (Crowley has since come to recognize that look as the one that meant he was out to cause trouble of some sort) and he'd scooted over and nudged his shoulder with his.

_New, huh? Well, I happen to be an excellent tour guide. And I'll give you the skinny for free, which is not something you'll find anywhere else. So c'mon, let's go._

So they'd gone, two strangers on an adventure, and he'd quickly learned which bowling alleys to avoid (_don't go there, the guy who runs it is a total putz_) and which movie theatres made it easy to sneak into shows, and which stores in the mall didn't have security guards. He'd trailed Gabriel around the neighbourhood until close to eleven-thirty, until Michael had found them at the park and dragged Gabriel home by one arm. And he remembers watching him go, grinning over one shoulder, and he'd made up his mind.

That gap-toothed little troublemaker with the worn-out sneakers was his new best friend.

And somehow, standing there at the Grand Canyon, with Gabriel right there with him, he knows that's never actually been truer.

* * *

"Abaddon wants me dead, you know."

They're wedged into a booth at a diner just off the highway outside of Albuquerque. Crowley fully intends to drive into the night and it startles him how quickly they're moving east. It feels like just yesterday that they took off at the crack of dawn for all points unknown. He wonders how his mother is, if Lilith has noticed he hasn't returned any of her calls, if Alistair has registered that he missed that movie they were supposed to see.

Gabriel looks up from his plate of cheese fries, "Tell me something I don't know."

"I thought you wanted to hear the story."

"I do," He pops a fry into his mouth, chews and then shakes his head, "So tell me something I _don't _know. I guessed she wanted you dead back in Kingman, dude. It wasn't hard to figure out. Question is," He picks up another fry and waggles it in Crowley's general direction. Cheese sauce drips onto the table and Crowley tries not to make a face; "Why. _That _is the six million dollar question, my friend. So shed a little light on the subject, would ya? It's getting boring."

Crowley huffs, "Know it all."

"I try. So spill."

"Well, it's…" He trails off and decides that the old lady and her son outside the window, arguing over something in the parking lot, are much more interesting than Gabriel's stupidly handsome face, "I deal, okay? And so does Abaddon. She's good at what she does and so am I. It's a competitive market with a fairly small clientele. It was bound to happen. I had hoped we could deal with it like bloody adults but she-well, you know Abaddon. She's a little cut-throat."

"A little?"

"Okay, exceedingly," He rolls his eyes, "Long and short of it is that she told me to stop or she'd stop me for good. So I left."

"That doesn't really explain why she came after you."

"Ah, well, no, I suppose it doesn't," He pauses and debates the merits of honesty, "…I called the police and submitted an anonymous tip about her when we were in Las Vegas. I thought it would get her locked away. Then we could go home and you could get back to normal and –would you stop staring like that!"

Gabriel is staring.

He's got a cheese fry mid-way to his mouth, which is kind of dropped open, and his eyebrows are arched up toward his hairline and, really, he just looks downright flabbergasted. After a second or two of staring, he sets his fry down and whistles, "You are dumber than you look."

"Excuse you?"

"You actually thought that would work?"

Crowley leans back in his seat and gives him an appraising look, "You're going to talk to me about dumb ideas? Might I remind you that you were the genius who thought Old Man Rufus's cat needed a bath in that fountain in the middle of February? Or that going down the bleachers in a shopping buggy was a good idea? Or that your mailbox could withstand five firecrackers being shoved in it? That was entirely you, if memory serves."

"Ah, but you went along with all of those!"

"If only to ensure you didn't lose a hand. Or kill yourself."

"You still did it."

"Yes, but I—never mind. Eat your bloody cheese fries."


	7. Chapter 7

AN:  
i really like this chapter. Like a lot. It was a ton of fun to write

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 07._

Slowly, the landscape gives back in to open desert as the daylight burns away into night.

Gabriel's got a hand shoved out the window and the stereo is playing through some mix tape of mostly new wave British bands they found shoved under the passenger seat. Next on the docket is a tape messily titled 'my songs' in Alistair's chicken scratch and Crowley dreads plugging it in, if only because his friend's taste in music is questionable at best and awful at worst.

"I never wanted to stop being your friend. You know that, right?"

Gabriel's gazing off into the open stretch of dark sky swelling before them as the sunshine fades off in their rear-view mirror. His expression is almost empty but Crowley knows he's become an expert in that look. It got him through most arguments with his brothers.

"Is that meant to make me feel better?"

"Well, no," Gabriel glances at him for the first time and he frowns, "No. But it's…I don't know. It's complicated, okay?"

"It's somehow more complicated than all this?"

"Yes."

"Bollocks," Crowley snorts and looks back to the road, "Nothing is ever as complicated as it seems."

"You don't know my brothers."

"I know them well enough to know that you let them boss you around. What are you so afraid of, Gabriel?" When he doesn't say anything, he decides to push forward, "Michael? Luke? You're better than them. Always have been. But you still let them force you to do things you don't want to do. Church?"

Gabriel laughs, "Yeah, I don't go anymore. I lit the Sunday School nativity scene on fire two years ago."

"Or any of those ridiculous family outings? Like the food bank one where they made you pick up dirty needles on bloody Christmas morning?"

"Don't do that anymore either," Gabriel says with a bit of a shrug, "I got into an altercation with one of the homeless guys. They won't even let me in the building anymore."

There's a long span of silence, "That's your plot then, hm?"

"What?"

"Get banned from every single thing you don't want to do so you don't have to do it? Very clever."

"No, it's not-" Gabriel stops and laughs, really laughs, throws his head back and laughs, "Okay, okay, it totally is!"

Crowley grins, "How's it working out so far?"

"They haven't figured me out as of yet so, good. I guess."

It feels good to laugh Crowley decides, to have this sort of moment with him like this – it's long overdue and he drums his fingers against the steering wheel with a bit of a hum. He knows this song; Lilith had been obsessed with it last summer and it occurs to him then that this is probably that tape she had been looking for two months ago. Shame she wouldn't be getting it back.

"So, Chicago?" Gabriel offers and Crowley looks at him. He sighs; "Chicago. We can go to Chicago. Like Bueller."

"You're comparing us to Ferris Bueller? We're halfway across the country and going…God knows where. Ferris Bueller doesn't have _anything _on us, Gabriel, please."

"So if I'm Bueller, does that mean you're Cameron?"

"Why are you Bueller?"

"Please. You're not Bueller," Gabriel looks thoughtful for a moment, "You're definitely like Cameron. Or maybe you're Sloane…"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah…Sloane would work."

"You're serious? You're comparing me to Sloane? As if. And, excuse you, if anyone is Cameron, it's _you_," Crowley points out with a bit of a huff, "I am most definitely the Ferris type. I'm the one who dragged _you _out, remember?"

"For once," Gabriel argues back with a roll of his eyes. He does his best petulant child imitation, slouching down in his seat to prop his feet up on the dashboard again, "Usually I drag you out. And your ass is definitely so tight you could turn coal into diamonds."

"…You take that back."

Gabriel snorts, "You'd rather have a loose ass?"

"Gabriel!"

"What! That's the opposite of tight you know!"

"You're a twisted human being," Crowley shoots back, shaking his head as the tape switches over and resumes playing, "You are. You're twisted."

"Hey, you're friends with me."

Silence settles then, and Gabriel turns to look at him and Crowley glances back as long as he can, tries to juggle meeting Gabriel's gaze with watching the road so they don't die in some fiery crash because wouldn't that just be so poetic and beautiful?

"…We are still friends, right?"

"Yeah," Crowley replies automatically, and he finds that he means it, "Of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?"

"Just…things have been so messed up between us and I…I don't know. I thought we might not be any more."

"Just because things were messed up then, doesn't mean they have to be now," Crowley points out, a lot more gently than he means to. It sounds almost tender, something really intimate, far more intimate than he means but it doesn't seem to bother Gabriel so he just sighs; "We'll figure it out. Together. The past is the past."

* * *

Gabriel dozes off somewhere between the boarder of New Mexico and Texas and Crowley keeps driving through the night. The Texas desert is surprisingly calming – just open, dark skies and the whoosh of night air as it goes past the cracked open window. Gabriel's snoring quietly next to him, head cradled in his seatbelt strap and his fingers keep twitching against his thigh and something fond tugs at Crowley's chest.

They reach Amarillo without incident.

But money is running out, and quickly, so Crowley finds the nearest Walmart parking lot, pulls in, and turns the car off. Gabriel doesn't stir, even as he drops his seat into a reclining position, scrubbing a hand over his face before he drops an arm across his eyes. It's far from comfortable, or glamourous, but Gabriel's already out cold beside him so he supposes he should take what he can get. It doesn't take him long to doze off, lulled by the buzz of the crickets and Gabriel's soft, steady breathing.

When he wakes up, it's cooking in the car – it's already past dawn and the sun has just risen over the giant outline of Walmart but its already sticky uncomfortable and Crowley groans a bit before he starts struggling with the door. He manages to get it open, but it doesn't help the heat much. Beside him, Gabriel grumbles something that might be 'shut up' but Crowley isn't too sure. He briefly entertains the idea of waking him up, but ultimately decides against it. He's never been too much of a morning person and if the empty parking lot is any indication, it's still early. So instead he sits out on the hood of the car and he watches as the store opens (just after eight, if his guess is accurate) and people start to arrive to do some early morning grocery shopping.

Why people need to go to Walmart at eight am is beyond him.

A little after that Gabriel emerges from the car looking hot and a little disgruntled. There's sweat on his forehead and his hair is a mess from where he probably tried to comb it with his fingers and the minute he's outside, he stretches like a cat, slow and lazy, and Crowley tries not to stare at the exposed strip of skin above his jeans that peeks out when his shirt rides up.

"Did we sleep in a car?"

"Obviously," Crowley replies, turning back to stare at the store, hiding his wandering eyes. If Gabriel notices, or minds, the attention, he doesn't comment on it; "Hotels are expensive and we're going to be broke soon. We still have to buy gas and eat."

"Food would be nice."

Crowley rolls his eyes, "Yes, yes. I'll feed you soon enough. Let's go and get a few things from the store, yeah?"

"I thought you said we were broke."

Crowley just gives him a bit of a look over the top of the car and Gabriel shrugs in response. Their money situation isn't quite that dire, though if they continue to spend the way they had been since they left LA, it would be. At the very least, they had to keep the car fuelled - running out of gas in the middle of nowhere Texas isn't high on Crowley's to-do list.

Walmart is far busier inside than the parking lot suggests. It's immense, filled with busy people trying to get their morning grocery shop in and Gabriel inhales deeply when they walk in.

"Ah, I love the smell of redneck in the morning."

Crowley makes a choked noise in his throat when a couple (with a rather enormous biker-esque man) look at them with a frown and he wastes no time in shoving Gabriel into the store.

"Would you shut up?"

Gabriel just gives him a grin over one shoulder, "Don't worry. I won't let the big bad cowboys hogtie you and do unspeakable things. I'll protect your virtue, Crowley. You have my word."

As luck would have it, one such cowboy (or Crowley assumes he's a cowboy - he has a ten gallon hat and boots so it's not entirely unreasonable to assume) strolls by with a buggy and gives them both an odd stare. Crowley just throws him the most disarming smile he can manage and herds Gabriel deeper into the store, weaving them down the kids clothing section to electronics.

"Bloody hell. I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

"Probably not."

Gabriel's got that shit eating grin on his face again, the one that Crowley has long since come to dread, and after a moment, he turns and starts sauntering off down the aisle, like they have all the time in the world. He follows him, because he has to, trails behind him as he looks at all the interesting items that a Texas Walmart can offer them. Mostly, he people watches – he makes friends with a little girl in the bakery by hiding behind the shelves of bread and popping up and making faces at her. She's squealing with delight by the time her mother wheels her buggy off and Gabriel waves at her until she vanishes around the corner. Then he's off again, wandering through the aisles until the live lobster that have apparently been carted up that very same morning from the Gulf Coast catch his attention.

"Man, forget Chicago," Gabriel comments, leaning forward to tap one finger against the glass where a very unperturbed lobster sits, "Let's go down to New Orleans. Mardi Gras!"

"No way," Crowley shakes his head and tries to ignore the beady-eyed little crab staring at him, "I am not bringing you within a hundred miles of Mardi Gras Gabriel. Forget it."

"Party pooper."

"One of us has to be," he sighs and looks about the store, "I'm going to grab a few things. Can you stay here for fifteen minutes and not wander off? I don't want to get separated."

Gabriel waves him off, dismissive, as he continues staring at the lobster intently. Crowley just watches him and then huffs again.

"Don't even think of buying that thing, Gabriel."

"I'm broke!" Gabriel shoots back, but there's a devilish upturn to his lips that Crowley really doesn't trust. Fool me once, shame on you, Crowley thinks, fool me twice, shame on me. So he grabs Gabriel by his arm and drags him off, depositing him safely in the book and magazine aisle. He grabs one that has Cyndi Lauper on the cover and thrusts it into his hands.

"Read this. And don't move."

"Yes, Dad."

Crowley leaves him there and wanders off – he grabs a jar of peanut butter and some bread, a bag of plastic knives, some napkins. He's contemplating the merit of buying Gabriel juice boxes when a low whistle interrupts him and when he turns, he's face to face with Abaddon.

"Oh, hell."

"Hi Crowley."

He sets the peanut butter and bread down, but keeps the bag of knives clenched tightly in one fist. A smile, amused and as smug as ever, twists those pretty lips of hers up and she bats her eyelashes at him.

"You're a hard man to find. Did you know that? Where's your friend?"

"Not happening."

Abaddon moves closer – each steps she takes is deliberate and he's reminded of a big cat, stalking its prey. She looks decidedly fierce and Crowley takes a step back without meaning to. He distantly remembers something Gabriel told him about not showing fear, but Abaddon is a woman, not a bloody python so he's fairly sure that she couldn't smell fear. She closes the gap between them relatively easy and then she's in his space, pressed in close; he can smell her perfume, something sweet and disarming, and she smiles at him.

"You're loyal," Something flashes in her eyes, "I hate that."

"Pity."

"We have a little problem here, Crowley," She purrs, grabbing the bag of plastic knives to yank hard out of his hands, "See, I don't like being dragged out of my family home at three am by police officers. And a little birdy told me you did that."

"What birdy?"

She bares her teeth in a smile, "So not important."

"Why aren't you in jail then?"

"Oh, Crowley…my father's a lawyer, you insignificant little bag of pus. I didn't even see the inside of a cell. But you," She grabs onto his face by the jaw and her nails dig into the skin of his cheek, "You embarrassed me, Crowley, and I don't like that. So, you and I are going to take a little walk and have a chat about that. Okay? And then I'm going to take your little friend back home to his brothers."

"…That's right. You and Luke are friends."

She tips her head, "Oh, you heard about that, did you? Looks like we each have our very own Novak. Too bad mine's smarter."

That's when an egg comes sailing through the air to cleanly hit Abaddon in the back of the neck. It startles her enough that she lets go of his jaw so she can whirl around and face her assailant. Another egg whizzes through the air to hit her square in the centre of her chest. Gabriel is standing at the end of the aisle, a two litre bottle of coca cola tucked under one arm and a carton of eggs on the shelf next to him and Crowley feels an unfamiliar wave of panic.

"Two steps back," He advises and Abaddon snarls a little, reaching up to wipe at her neck. Gabriel grabs another egg and cocks his arm back; "You heard me. Step back."

"You think I'm afraid of a fucking egg, you idiot?"

"No. I don't," He answers, and Crowley uses the distraction to ease backwards, "But I get enough forward momentum with _this_," He nods to the bottle in his arm, "And you're definitely going to feel it. Now, two steps back. Hurry up."

She doesn't move.

So Gabriel charges down the aisle at her as promised. He swings out wildly at her with the bottle, but she ducks and Gabriel uses the opportunity to go rushing right past her, grabbing Crowley's arm to drag him off.

"Let's go!"

By the time Abaddon straightens and turns, they're rounding the corner and Crowley hears her distantly snarl and then her heels are clacking wildly after them. Gabriel only has to look back once – then he's letting go of Crowley's arm to unscrew the cap of the coke to pour it out across the floor. There's a shriek, then a thud, and then they're bursting out into the muggy morning air, sprinting full tilt for the car.

"Run, run, quick!" Gabriel cries and Crowley fumbles with the keys before he gets the driver's door open. He leans over, jerks Gabriel's door open and starts the car. He barely gives him time to shut the door before he's backing out and peeling out of the parking lot. He catches a glimpse of Abaddon coming out of the store, covered in egg and coke, before he pulls out on to the road and keeps going.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: not much to say about this chapter.  
My posting is probably going to slow down a bit now, i've almost caught up to what i have done already. as always, thank you singingsin for being my beta and bullying me into writing when i get distracted by buzzfeed and random videos on youtube. you're a saint.  
This one is kind of a long one...so enjoy!

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 08._

"Holy fuck."

Crowley doesn't think he breathes until they're outside of Amarillo and on the way to Oklahoma City. Beside him, Gabriel starts to howl with laughter, clutching at his stomach before he throws a sideways glance at him.

"She's fucking terrifying when she's like that!"

"Are you out of your mind!"

"What?"

"You…she could have hurt you, you doughnut! And you came at her with a bottle of _Pepsi_? Are you…Jesus Christ, Gabriel!"

"Well, it was Coke, for one thing. And I worked with what I had! It was either that or the lobsters."

"The lobsters might have been a safer bet!" Crowley shouts, thumping his hands against the steering wheel and Gabriel just grins – his face is flushed from the exertion but his eyes are shining bright and almost happy, and he should have known. The little fucker lived for this kind of chaos; "This is a fucking disaster."

Gabriel doesn't even register that. He's too busy rolling the window down to stick his head out; he lets out a loud whoop of victory and Crowley tries to juggle keeping the car on the road and leaning over to fist a hand into Gabriel's shirt to make sure he doesn't tumble out the window. His fingers brush the exposed skin of Gabriel's back and it's warm and it sends a jolt through him like electricity. Gabriel either doesn't feel it or he doesn't notice but Crowley slowly retracts his hand and swallows down the lump that's wedged it's way into his throat.

Once the adrenaline wears off, Gabriel calms down considerably. He relaxes back into his seat and watches the world go by out the window, but he's still smiling, seemingly totally unaffected by their run-in with Abaddon. Crowley supposes it's a good thing that it didn't totally traumatize him, but…still. They keep driving through the empty landscape of Texas and eventually cross in to Oklahoma.

They have to ditch the car in Elk City – Crowley trades it for a Pontiac Firebird, even though he cringes at the very idea. The guy who owns the shop doesn't really seem to believe it either, but they drive off and leave the car, though the man swears up and down that he won't sell it for at least six months, should Crowley change his mind. And he fully intends to come back.

They spend most of the day in Elk City wasting time and staying out of sight. They go see Crocodile Dundee II at Gabriel's insistence and somehow, during the movie, they end up holding hands on the arm rest and it's surprisingly nice, after all the excitement from the morning. Money's still an issue but Crowley feels the urge to hide behind a locked door so they rent a motel room and spend the night eating greasy take out and watching whatever they can find on TV.

So, basically, it's a lot of sitcoms that Crowley doesn't find at all funny.

American humour is stupid.

* * *

The farther they go from LA, the less in control Gabriel feels.

They're stopped, for now, with a different car and that should help a bit but he's still uncomfortable. And it's mostly Crowley's fault – mostly is a loose term, of course. This has been a problem for more than just the start of this trip and he glances over at the sleeping body next to him and tries to ignore the tightness in his throat.

Crowley's more or less out cold, and he's been like that since they got comfortable and Gabriel can understand that. Driving for miles on end isn't exactly easy. The problem lies in the fact that Crowley's curled up close to him, with his face resting against his arm and he can feel each and every time his eyelids flutter and every breath that puffs across the bare skin of his arm. It's not even unpleasant. It's actually nice. It's familiar and safe and he really doesn't mind.

It's the intimacy of it that's raising the hair on his neck.

Whatever is between them has always been decidedly unique. It made Michael so uncomfortable that he hadn't wanted them hanging out. But they'd always been like magnets, two opposites pulling closer together, orbiting like satellites. Gabriel's starting to notice other things now, like how much he likes Crowley's cologne or his smile or even his laugh or the way his stupid accent flares up when he's annoyed.

The white-hot anger he felt when he saw Abaddon threatening him…it's still there, like he's been burned and it's branded on him and a small part of him just wants to wake up and have things be normal. Then again, part of him never wants this to end. He could spend the rest of his life on the road and be totally content with that.

Being away from his brothers alone is enough to make him want to keep going – it's never been a freedom he's really been permitted to experience and he's not quite sure what to make of it, except that he likes it. Not having Michael constantly watching is a nice change.

And he owes that to Crowley.

Gabriel just exhales and wiggles an arm out to grab the remote – he flicks off the TV and Crowley grumbles next to him. It takes some shifting and some squirming but he gets settled on his back with Crowley's back to him, though his arm his looped around his shoulders to hold him, his hand settled flat against his bicep. Crowley's skin is warm under his bare palm and Gabriel risks kissing the back of his head, quickly. Another grumble, and then Crowley is pressing a bit closer, burrowing down a bit more against his body heat.

It's...nice.

It's something that he's always kind of wanted but never allowed himself to have, this sort of physical closeness to him. It had always seemed sort of...not possible. But then again, a lot of impossible things are becoming possible on this trip so Gabriel supposes he shouldn't be so surprised. Hell, even just talking to Crowley had seemed impossible not even a week ago. It wasn't like they parted on bad terms, it's just that they parted, and it had left a bad taste in both their mouths. It hadn't even been something he'd wanted to do - but after that thoroughly embarrassing kiss, and the sudden weird attraction he had to him, Michael's 'gentle' suggestion to end the friendship had seemed downright logical. It was for the best, he'd told himself, things were getting weird and it was time to move on.

New school, new social life, new friends.

And Gabriel does like his friends, even though Uriel can be a jerk, and Balthazar is annoying most days. Kali's definitely his most exciting friend, thus far, but her temper coupled with his habit of making fun of her made things strained.

That, and they dated, briefly, in their first year of high school and it had been a messy, catastrophic beak up that had them at each other's throats every class for a year and a half. She still makes snarky comments about it. Gabriel's gotten exceptionally good at ignoring it. Somehow, in the years since he started high school, he'd come to convince himself that he didn't need Crowley. That their friendship, though amazing and wonderful and the best, healthiest relationship in his life, wasn't worth keeping a hold on.

So he'd let him go.

And now, laying in this dingy little motel room with Crowley's body moulded against his, he can't help but think that was the wrong decision.

But it's not like he has...feelings for him, or anything gay like that. They were (are?) friends and if he happened to notice how nice Crowley's ass looked in a certain pair of jeans, that's him being a pal, not a big flaming gay guy.

(Though, Crowley's ass is actually really nice.)

Regardless, even if he was gay (and he's definitely not) he's not entirely sure Michael could handle that kind of stress. It'd send him over into the deep end and he'd probably end up in a loony bin. His brother is already convinced his mortal soul is doomed to do the hellfire tango down below - throw in him being gay and Michael would have a meltdown and probably send him to a monastery to work on his relationship with The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit. Gabriel's never really understood why Michael jumped onto the religion bandwagon when their dad drank his way through their college funds, but he supposes he can't fault him for finding something to believe in.

It's not that Gabriel has a bad relationship with their dad, it's just realistic. He sees him for what he is and he gets it. But Michael, and Luke, still see him as their patron saint and they cling to it, desperate. Gabriel knows Chuck isn't a bad man, just because he's a shitty dad. He's just not cut out to raise children and unfortunately, he got stuck with four of them and he never really knew what to do about it except drink.

"What's on your mind?"

Crowley's twisted around enough to blink sleepily at him through the darkness and Gabriel shakes his head before burrowing his face down into the crook of his neck as best he can.

"Nothing. Chuck. My brothers."

The bed creaks as Crowley turns to face him properly, bundling him up in his arms, "Do you miss them?"

"A little."

It's hard not to miss his brothers but it's easier to forget Chuck. He wasn't around much, and when he was in the house, he was asleep or locked in his room doing only God knew what.

"...do you regret this?"

Gabriel's surprised by the question, "No. God no."

"You sure?"

Gabriel can feel Crowley's breath fanning across his face as he speaks - it's faintly minty from his toothpaste and he nods a little as his fingers slide up under Crowley's shirt. His skin is sleep warm as he runs his hands along the notches of his spine, the smooth curves of his shoulder blades and he leans forward just enough to gently bump his forehead to his.

"I'm sure," he murmurs, "I've done a lot of shit I regret, but I don't regret this."

Crowley's hand settles warm on his hip, and his thumb strokes slowly along the length of the bone, "good."

"Go back to sleep."

Crowley's eyes are already shut. He hums what must be an okay, and then he's out again, and something heavy tugs at Gabriel's chest, guilt or something like it, maybe, and he closes his eyes. He wants to kiss him - it would be easy, to lean forward and brush his lips against his, to step over that line that separated whatever they have from a real relationship. Instead, he just sighs and presses in closer and forces himself to fall asleep.

He doesn't know what he's doing. More importantly, he doesn't know how to reconcile what he wants with everything else.

* * *

Morning comes with the usual warmth and uncomfortable blankets sticking to his legs, though Crowley supposes it is better than waking up in the car.

Gabriel's already up and showered when he opens his eyes, which is a miracle in itself, and there's a cup of coffee from the local Dunkin Donuts and a blueberry bagel with cream cheese. Crowley lifts an eyebrow at the sight of it, waiting for him on the table and Gabriel just shrugs and goes back to whatever trash daytime talk show he's found to melt his brain with.

Surprisingly, it's Oprah, and Crowley wonders briefly if he's sick - he doesn't look like his usual self, upon closer, sneaky inspection. He looks tired.

Even more surprising is that he's being quiet.

Like, quieter than all the years he's known him. Even when they weren't friends, or actively hanging out, he could hear Gabriel in the hallways, catch the fading peals of his laughter, or the way his voice pitched up when he got frustrated with something. Crowley's never been sure where that part of him came from. His father and brothers are generally more reserved and quiet...but then Gabriel was the literal flurry of hyperactivity.

"Are you okay?"

Gabriel looks away from the TV, "What?"

"You. Are you okay?"

"Oh. Yeah. I'm fine," he looks back to the screen, rubs his thumb along the volume button, "a little tired, I guess."

Crowley doesn't believe a word of that. But Gabriel clearly isn't in a sharing mood - he looks downright stormy, staring at Oprah and her guest like she will fix all his problems. Either that, or she's the cause of said problems.

"So I've been thinking."

"That's pretty dangerous," Gabriel says, "Did it hurt?"

Okay, maybe not as off as he thought. Crowley rolls his eyes.

"Shut up. I'm being serious," he sighs, "I was wondering how Abaddon knew we were in Vegas. It's not like anybody knew where we went, but she somehow found us."

"...Did she mention how?"

"Said a little birdy told her."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"How should I know?"

Gabriel shrugs his shoulders, "Ignore her. She was probably fucking with you."

"...I don't think so. She knew something," Crowley doesn't like how tense the line of Gabriel's shoulders look, or the way his thumb has stilled against the remote, "You didn't say anything, did you?"

"Like what?"

"Well, when you called your brothers. Did you say anything?"

Gabriel turns to look at him, and he's frowning. He even sits up; "Why do you think it had anything to do with me?"

"You're the only one of us that's called home, Gabriel. What did you tell Luke?"

There's a moment of silence and then he huffs. Doesn't respond, just huffs and crosses his arms across his chest. Crowley knows him well enough to know that he's done something to fuck this up, and he opens his mouth to prompt him to tell the damn truth when he shrugs his shoulders.

"I told Luke where we were. He was worried about me. I disappeared in the middle of the night. I had to tell him something!"

"Oh, hell."

"I didn't know it was Abaddon we were running away from!" He says, visibly annoyed, "Maybe if you had been honest when I fucking asked you, this wouldn't have happened. Instead you have to keep your stupid secrets and not tell me a damn thing about what was going on. I'm not a kid, you know!"

"I thought discretion was obvious! You don't have to tell your brothers everything! You're an adult, Gabriel, for pity's sake. Act like one."

"Oh, fuck off with that, would you? I get it. You think I'm a big baby because I respect my brothers. Sorry I'm not more like you, Mr. Independent. I'll get right on that one, okay?"

Gabriel stands up and shoves his feet back into his sneakers and Crowley watches as he grabs his wallet off the nightstand table. Then he's pulling on his coat and something cold uncurls in Crowley's belly. Gabriel's taking the car keys and heading for the door and-

"Where the hell are you going?"

"Out."

Crowley grabs his arm and yanks him backwards, "Like hell you are! Not with my car!"

"Let me the fuck go!"

They struggle a bit, Crowley holding and Gabriel pulling, but Gabriel has the advantage – being an only child isn't conducive to being able to keep someone from doing something and eventually, he breaks free of his hold and stalks out the door. The room falls into silence and Crowley just exhales angrily and sits down heavy on the single bed.

Just fantastic.


	9. Chapter 9

AN:  
Finished up another chapter last night so here's the next one.  
Unbeta'd, but I've read this over at least sixteen times and revised a ton of it myself so it should be good. I hope. Aghhdljlg idk how I feel about this bit but, meh, here we go anyway?

psst not to spoil anything but this is the chapter with the implied Anna/Ruby so just a heads up if you're not in to that. It's not super outrageous or anything but it was my intention when i wrote it. I guess if it makes you uncomfortable, you can just envision them as cousins or sisters or bffs or whatever the hell you want but yeah. 

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 09._

Gabriel doesn't come back until the next morning.

It's a long, sleepless night for Crowley and he's not sure when he became so dependent on Gabriel being there to help him sleep. All he knows is that the bed is too empty – it feels like miles of open space next to him.

He does come back though.

It's just after nine AM when Gabriel slips in and tosses the keys onto the table by the door. He doesn't say a word, just goes for the bathroom and shuts the door.

Crowley's ready to leave when he comes back out and they just pile into the car and start driving. Oklahoma City is next and they pass through and keep going. Somewhere along the line, the desert has disappeared and the landscape is now dotted with trees and green grass and the change is kind of nice, actually – endless dust and cacti was starting to get boring.

"Pull over."

It's the first words Gabriel's spoken since coming back that morning and Crowley looks over at him oddly for a second before he looks back to the road, "What? Why?"

"Just do it."

So he does.

They're a few miles outside of Tulsa, and Crowley has absolutely no idea what's going on, but Gabriel's gotten out of the car and he's going off on foot, back the way they came, and Crowley curses under his breath before he gets out and follows. Then the bastard is darting across the road and whatever he's found has entirely captured his attention and Crowley hasn't seen something do that to him in…years, really.

It turns out it's a giant Blue Whale.

Gabriel's grinning. Crowley's mildly concerned.

"You're kidding."

"They have swimming."

"Gabriel."

He's already walking off though and Crowley wonders when that became an effective way to end a conversation. Either way, he's going off without him, down the road that brings them closer to that stupid whale. It's a whole park, upon closer inspection, and Crowley just sighs.

"Gabriel, we really don't have time for this…"

Somehow, they end up staying.

They stock up on supplies (like swim shorts and sunscreen – Gabriel tries to buy him waterwings but Crowley ends up throwing the box at him from across the aisle) at the trading post across the highway, and then spend a couple of hours soaking up the spring sunshine and swimming.  
There's even a snack bar and Gabriel charms the girl there into some free sodas and chips and it's actually easier than it should be to forget that they were mad at one another just a few hours ago. Crowley even gives in and goes into the little swimming hole, and Gabriel actually does his damnedest to drown him, he's sure – he keeps jumping on him and splashing him and causing a general ruckus and then the small herd of children are joining him and he's being assaulted by six eight year olds and one overly rambunctious eighteen year old.

He eventually manages to creep away (after hiding behind that stupid whale's giant tail) and those six eight year olds manage to distract Gabriel enough that he can hide out in the shade of some trees with the mothers.

"They're a handful, aren't they?"

Crowley glances over at the woman next to him. She's pretty, with long red hair and a kind smile and Crowley just snorts and shakes his head, watching as Gabriel has a chicken fight with two other kids, balancing another precariously on his shoulders. He's always been good with children and he thinks that Castiel is behind that – having to watch after his youngest brother certainly gave him a knack for entertaining; that, and his maturity level hovered right around theirs on good days.

"You could say that."

She laughs softly and sticks out a hand.

"I'm Anna."

He shakes it, "Crowley."

She turns back to the kids and Gabriel, then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "I like bringing them here. It feels wholesome. You know? Like…simpler times."

Crowley can understand that. Maybe that's why he put up with the detour.

"So, Crowley. What brings you to Catoosa?"

"Oh, ah, road trip," Crowley lies, though it's not entirely untrue. It's just…mostly not true; "Me and my friend."

She nods, "Oh, that's nice. Are you enjoying yourself so far?"

Aside from the homicidal red heads out to kill them and the childish, stupid arguments, he thinks that they are. It's been the most fun he's had in a long, long time; "Yeah. It's been…interesting."

"Your friend seems nice."

"He can be."

"I know the feeling," Her eyes wander to a pretty brunette standing at the snack counter, sipping on a soda under the shade of a giant, floppy hat. She looks less than thrilled to be where she is, sort of like a cat about to get a bath, but she smiles thinly when she sees Anna and waves a little. Anna returns it and laughs; "That's Ruby. She's not a fan of road trips. Or kids, for that matter."

"But she's here?"

"She does it for me," Anna comments, looking back to her kids. One of them hollers a 'Look at me mom!' from Gabriel's shoulders and waves his arm wildly in the air. Anna waves back; "She knows I like it here and my son likes it here. And it makes me happy, to know that she's willing to do that for me."

Crowley just watches Gabriel as he drops backwards into the water with the kid, emerging a moment later soaking wet with probably the biggest grin on his face as the boy pops up beside him. They high five and then Gabriel's eyes find his and the smile he gives him is smaller, more reserved, but startlingly intimate. Crowley just waves at him, a little, but Gabriel is already distracted with the kids again as they decide to dog pile on him.

* * *

They hit the highway again just after seven.

They share a picnic and barbecue with Anna, Ruby and the herd of children, and Crowley hates to admit it, but as prickly as Ruby was, she was a hell of a good cook and her burgers were to die for.

More importantly, the trip had burned off some of Gabriel's extra energy and he seemed more complacent, slumped in the passenger seat with a new splattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and along his arms. He's got the window open with his fingers stuck out as they drive along the empty expanse of highway north and its nice, to be quiet and calm, with just the radio to fill the silence.

"I'm not mad that you told Luke."

Gabriel glances at him. His cheeks are a little pinker than usual – probably a sunburn. The idiot didn't use the sunscreen after all; "You seemed pretty mad last night."

"I'm not…mad," He admits, shaking his head, "Just frustrated."

"With me."

"With everything," he says and he finds that he means it, "We're on the run and I don't like it. I don't like that you're missing school. That you have to be away from your family. That it's come to this because of _me_. And I should have told you sooner what was going on. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you should have."

"Most people say 'I forgive you' when someone apologizes, Gabriel…"

"Yeah, well."

Crowley rolls his eyes, "You're such a brat."

Gabriel makes an annoyed noise but looks back at the open stretch of road as they go, watching the trees as they whiz by, then, without warning, Gabriel points at the nearby turn-off, "Let's go into town here. Get snacks."

"You just ate!"

"So?"

Crowley does what he wants though. They pull off into Miami and seek out the nearest corner store, though eventually Gabriel just ends up insisting on more dinner so they stop at some place called Waylan's Ku Ku Burgers for a quick meal. They both unanimously decide, three bites in, that Ruby's burgers were much better. Either way, it's a nice detour and the place is kind of homely and comfortable and they sit in the booth and share a milkshake and Gabriel plays around with the straws more than a guy his age should. This feels a lot like childhood; they'd spend Gabriel's allowance on popcorn and soda and then sneak in to a movie and they had the whole thing down to a fine science by the time they turned twelve.

When they get back on the road, they don't end up driving far; it's only a couple of miles before they come across an overpass, extending over a massive river, reaching out into the darkened landscape. He can hear it below them, powerful but serene, and Gabriel leans over the edge to peer down at it.

"It's different, isn't it?" He asks, quiet, "Even the sky. We don't have stars like this back home."

Somewhere off in the distance, a coyote howls and he can hear the faint hum of the crickets, nearly drowned out by the river beneath them. On impulse, Crowley reaches out and takes his hand and laces their fingers together. Gabriel looks at him.

"It's nice."

They sit at the side of the road on the hood of the car and watch the stars, bright and seemingly endless, and they name constellations until Gabriel falls asleep, curled into the warmth of Crowley's body, head resting on his chest so he can hear his heartbeat and Crowley keeps combing his hands through the end of his hair because, for some reason, it seems like the only thing he should be doing right now.


	10. Chapter 10

AN:  
This chapter is a little short.  
I'm going to be posting the next one within a few days, maybe this weekend.  
but if everything goes like I'm planning, then this fic will have 20 or so chapters. which means, ohhhh we're halfway there~~~~

I really like the first bit of this chapter. c:

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 10.  
_

The sun peaks over the low roll of grassy hills and trees sooner than Crowley'd like it to. He hasn't slept much, just dozed, and his bones ache from the cold that's seeped up through the metal of the car hood. Next to him, Gabriel mumbles a sleepy protest at being moved, though once he realizes where he is, he clams up and slides down onto the cement.

They resume driving, bleary-eyed and more than sort of exhausted, until Oklahoma is just a spot in their rear view mirror and Missouri sprawls before them. The next available place for breakfast is in Joplin, so they stop, fuel up, and grab coffee.

Crowley also makes the decision to call home.

At the very least, he can check on his mother, and make sure that his friends were still breathing. Having them dead would seriously put a damper on his resolution to not deal with Abaddon personally.

"Mm'lo?"

Lilith would have been less frustrating to deal with but Alistair had a knack for details and an insider understanding of his business.

"Hello, darling."

Alistair starts to laugh.

Quietly, then louder, and he hears the sheets rustling as he sits up. It's still early and Crowley isn't surprised he's still in bed. He doesn't usually do mornings.

"Well, well. I was wondering when you'd call. I didn't think that kitten had gotten her claws in to you yet. You're far too clever for that old world brutality, Crowley baby."

"Flattery will get you nowhere at this point," Crowley offers and he can see Alistair rolling his eyes, "what's been going on since I've been gone?"

"Chaos. But nothing I can't handle. You know I love a little bit of trouble."

"I'm well aware."

"And you know that Novak kid's missing too? Luke's brother."

Crowley sighs, "He's with me, Alistair."

"What the hell for?"

"You know why."

"Yeah, well," Alistair just hums and Crowley can hear the TV click on, "you really should reconsider and ditch him. He's a neon beacon leading everyone right to you, babe."

"...what do you mean?"

Alistair snorts in that condescending way that makes Crowley hate him, just a little, "Abaddon's looking for him. You're small fry to her. Especially since you left and forfeit your title to her. That's all she wants. Luke wants his little baby brother home and since he's with you...well, she can kill two birds with one stone that way, can't she? Convenience, for the modern age. Or that's what I've heard, anyway."

"You're joking."

"Do I ever?"

"Bloody hell..."

"Have you seen her?"

Crowley sighs and leans against the wall of the phone booth, glancing toward the diner. He catches Gabriel through the glass, chatting easily with the waitress, a pretty brunette with a name tag that read Lisa.

"Twice," Crowley answers, "she said a little birdy told her where were."

"You want that birdy's name, baby?"

"I could probably hazard a guess," Crowley pinches the bridge of his nose and turns away from Gabriel, "But go ahead."

"Luke Novak, the one and only," he hums, "Though, rumours suggest that it's actually the older one who got that deal running."

"Michael?"

"Sure...let's say Michael's his name."

That doesn't make sense. Luke had always been the one who was willing to dirty his hands - Michael was too righteous, with his holier than thou attitude and shining moral values. They may have been twins, but Luke had always walked the line between criminal and saint and him getting involved made perfect sense. Michael was the piece that didn't fit.

Though, desperate times did usually call for desperate measures. Maybe stepping down to his brother's level was Michael's idea of desperate measures.

"Where are you, anyway?"

"Missouri," Crowley answers, though his mind is wandering somewhere else. Chicago may not be an option anymore. Canada might be a safer bet; "But we're not staying."

"You've ditched the car, haven't you?"

"Of course."

"Money?"

Crowley exhales, "I'm down to dollars right now. I don't know what to do."

"You do so," Alistair accuses, "Don't be so dramatic. Steal some. I showed you how. Don't be a baby and grow a pair of balls, Crowley, Christ."

"I can't steal with Gabriel around, you moron."

Alistair does a poor imitation of him and Crowley resists the urge to smash the phone receiver against the wall, "what other choice do you have? You go to a bank, they're going to ding you and Abaddon is going to come running. I don't see how you have any other options, baby. Forget your little girly crush and let him see how dirty you really are. If he's like Luke, it might be a turn on."

"Stop that."

"Sore spot?"

"Just don't talk about him like that."

"Aw, Crowley baby, you're melting my heart here. If I didn't know better, I'd say you really did like him!" Alistair laughs. Crowley stays silent. Then Alistair stops laughing; "...You do, don't you."

"I said stop that. Don't be ridiculous."

"No, no, developing a crush on the one thing that's going to get you killed, that's ridiculous, baby. Ditch. Him. Get in the car and drive away. He's just dead weight to you anyway."

"I'm not leaving him in the middle of nowhere, Alistair, don't be stupid! At the very least, I can use him as a bargaining chip. Luke wants him back so badly, then he can call off his attack dog. I get my business back, Luke gets his brother and Abaddon can go fuck herself."

"That's my boy."

"Right," Crowley starts to twist the phone cord around his finger idly, and he sighs, "I'm out of minutes. Keep an eye on Lilith until I'm home."

"You got it, baby. I'll see you soon."

Crowley hangs up, turns and is met with Gabriel. He's standing just outside the phone booth, shoulders tense, back ramrod straight, like a knife is pushing into the curve of his spine. Crowley resists the urge to check if Abaddon is hiding behind him.

"Ready to go?"

"I'm a bargaining chip?"

Crowley's blood runs cold and he thinks he feels his stomach drop out from beneath him, "...what?"

"That's what you just said, you incredibly huge ass. You called me your bargaining chip. You're going to, what? Trade me off so Abaddon will let you keep selling drugs?"

"Gabriel, that's not what I meant..."

"I came with you because I'm your friend, you dick, and you're...fuck you."

"Gabriel. Please. Stop shouting and calm down. It's not-"

"Don't tell me to calm down! You're using me! Wait..._that's_ why you let me come with you? So I could be your friggin' bargaining chip?"

"That is not what I meant!"

Gabriel snorts, "It's pretty fucking clear what you meant, Crowley, Jesus Christ. I'm not going home just to be your bargaining chip. Forget it."

Oh damn it.

Crowley wonders briefly when his damn luck got to be so shitty. He doesn't dwell on that, though, because Gabriel is turning around and storming off toward the highway.

"Where are you going?" Crowley calls after him and he has to jog to catch up. He grabs onto Gabriel's arm, but he just shakes him off; "Gabriel, damn it, I'm serious! What are you going to do? Are you going to...what, hitchhike home?"

"Sure, why not!"

"Gabriel, I swear to you. I wasn't going to use you as a bargaining chip. Alistair, he said...Abaddon's following us because of you, and he wanted me to ditch you here. Go off on my own. I just said it to shut him up, I never meant to do-"

"...Wait, Abaddon's after _me_? Why?"

That seems to have slowed him down considerably. Crowley nods, a little, and he reaches out to take Gabriel's hand. He doesn't pull back, which is an improvement. He even takes the moment to thread their fingers together and Gabriel's shoulders sag a bit, in relief or exhaustion, he's not sure. Maybe a little of both.

"That's what Alistair said," he says, "So we have to...deal with this and be smart about it, yeah? Use our brains. Plan things out. We're almost out of money, and we have a long way to go to get to Chicago. We need gas and food. And we need to get it without being caught."

"What about Kansas?"

"...What about Kansas?"

Gabriel sighs, "what if we drove into Kansas, made it look like we headed north from Oklahoma instead of north east. We could...I don't know, withdraw some money from a bank in Kansas and then haul ass back toward Chicago."

That might work.

"I have an ATM card," Gabriel says, "if my brothers really sent Abaddon after me, I'm sure using it will catch their attention. At least then we'll have money."

"How much?"

"I think there's at least twelve hundred. It's Michael's and Luke's."

"...How on Earth did you get that?"

"The card was in the front hallway. Luke left it there after he got groceries last weekend. I saw it, I grabbed it. Easy."

Gabriel shrugs. Crowley just shakes his head and rubs at his temple with the hand not holding Gabriel's, leading him back toward the car. Trust Gabriel to put his brother's faith in his siblings to less than pure uses. But regardless, he has a bad feeling that he can't quite shake. It was a solid plan, at least, and even if it didn't work and Abaddon didn't fall for it, it would give them the cash they needed and then some.

"So we have a plan?"

"We have a plan," Crowley confirms, squeezing his hand lightly, "Let's hope it works."


	11. Chapter 11

AN:  
I was planning on posting this last night but I ended up falling asleep before i could.  
I'm also pretty thrilled with this chapter so enjoy friends.

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 11._

Gabriel is taking entirely too long to be reassuring.

He'd disappeared into the bank nearly thirty minutes ago and he hasn't come back out yet. Crowley tries not to dwell on this fact, but it's difficult. What if he had been caught? What if they'd somehow figured out that he was using a stolen bank card and he was a missing person on the run from a deranged woman?

When forty minutes have gone by, Crowley climbs out of the car and tries not to pace. It's warm in Kansas, the air sort of stagnant and stifling in the cab, even with all the windows cranked down. He sits on the hood first. Then the trunk. Then he leans against the side of the car and watches the bank's front doors.

He's counting down the time to go inside when Gabriel finally comes out. He's no worse for wear, thankfully, and he's smiling.

"Well?"

"Got it," He says as he pats his back pocket, "All of it."

"How much?" Crowley circles around to the driver's side door and climbs back into the car, "And what the hell took you so long?"

"Sixteen fifty," He answers as he yanks his door open, "There was a line."

"Christ."

"I know."

Crowley pulls away from the curb and heads back for the highway.

* * *

Carthage, Missouri is, so far, the most interesting place they'd been.

Gabriel's been whining about the fact the drive-in movie theatre is closed since they passed it on the way to town, though he's more than content now, listening to an older gentleman talk about his great, great grandpappy who lost a leg in the Civil War right here in Carthage. Right over by that tree, across from the diner they're sitting in, actually.

Crowley finds the whole thing mildly ridiculous.

Gabriel eventually needs to be bribed with candy (and then threatened) before he gives in and lets Crowley push him back to the car. They drive a bit more, out of Carthage and further into the Missouri countryside – the road is open and the late spring air is warm and fresh. Gabriel digs out Alistair's mixtape and they both marvel silently as the first few notes of Dancing with Myself trickle through the speakers. Then Gabriel starts to howl with laughter until he almost cries and Crowley stores the information away for later blackmail.

"You know," Gabriel looks at him with a sideways grin, "I think Ferris was right."

"What about?"

"Life does move fast," He remarks, looking back out the window as the trees whip past them. The sky is clear and blue, dotted with clouds, and its like something out of a cheesy movie; "I mean, shit, weren't we just starting high school like...a week ago?"

"We haven't even been gone a week yet."

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

And he does, that's the sad thing.

They drive until they hit Springfield and Crowley is pretty sure, at this point, they're far enough away from Wichita to be safe, at least for a little while. Abaddon would be on her way to the bank to investigate and they'd been sure to leave enough clues for her to assume they were making a break for the Canadian border. Gabriel's wad of cash is burning a hole in his pockets, if his little devious grin is anything to go off. They settle on a little diner to eat dinner at, and Gabriel devours close to his weight in deep-fried pie – he also orders fried catfish and raves about it while Crowley tries not to cringe at the very idea of eating something with whiskers.

(He eventually gives in, and he's actually surprised to find that it's not bad.)

Once they're fed, they explore a bit, driving aimlessly around Springfield until they find a hotel for the night and Crowley's never been so happy to ask for a room with two beds in his life. And it's funny, but he can't help but feel like they've found a rhythm to this thing, whatever it is, and Crowley watches as Gabriel flops face first into the bed with a relieved sigh.

"It smells clean."

Crowley's lips pull into a smirk, "Better savour it."

"Its so worth it," He pats the bed next to him, "Care to join me?"

So he does.

* * *

This is more Alabama Slammers than any man should consume, of that Crowley is sure.

But he can't make himself care, especially not when Gabriel is sucking back every pornographically named drink he can find on the menu, and doing obscene things to cherry stems with his tongue. The way his mouth moves is fascinating in a way that is mildly disturbing and Crowley clears his throat and orders another drink as Gabriel hums and sticks out his tongue to show him his most recent knot.

"See?"

He's slurring his words. That's bad.

"How on...where on _Earth _did you learn to do that?"

Gabriel grins - crooked, tongue still stuck out - and he reaches out to take his hand. His skin is warm; it sends tingles along the length of Crowley's arm and he swallows thickly. Then that knotted stem is being dropped into his palm and Gabriel's waving down the bartender and asking for a Screaming Orgasm.

Bloody hell.

Crowley is too hot, and he's borderline annoyed that they didn't ask either of them for some form of identification because if they had, this certainly wouldn't be happening, and he's fighting the drunken urge to rub his hand along Gabriel's thigh, to feel the firm line of his muscles, the warmth of his body, the softness of his skin beneath his jeans. He shifts in his seat; this is awkward.

"Ancient family secret," he says.

All at once, Crowley gets this mental image of Gabriel sitting at the kitchen table practising tying knots in cherry stems with his tongue with his grandmother, which is six kinds of fucked up, really.

"If you fuck me, I'll show you."

Crowley inhales sharp enough that he ends up choking on it.

Gabriel's looking at him like he expects something, probably a response, and Crowley struggles with one for a moment before the bartender blessedly comes back with Gabriel's Screaming Orgasm. Not that he needs more alcohol in the least, but it gives him enough time to compose himself as best he can after six Alabama Slammers.

He must have heard wrong.

Gabriel's sucking at his drink through a straw, two little cherries on a pink plastic sword sitting on a napkin nearby, and Crowley scans the bar a little more before he scoots his chair in closer. Their legs bump under the table and then Gabriel's hand is sliding down his thigh to grip his knee through his pants.

Crowley tries not to leap out of his chair and away from him.

Instead, he spares a glance at him and he almost doesn't know who he's looking at. Gabriel's popped one of the cherries into his mouth and there's a red smear on his lower lip, sticky and probably sweet - his eyes are darker than Crowley remembers, more amber now than anything else, his pupils blown wide, nearly swallowing the iris. He grins, and then sticks out the tip of his tongue to produce another perfectly knotted cherry stem.

Crowley tries to breathe past the lump in his throat.

"Brat," is what comes out of his mouth and Gabriel laughs, quietly, nudging their shoulders together and squeezing his knee lightly.

"You love me. Don't deny it."

He can't, really. It had always been there, that deep, burning affection for the little bastard but lately...lately it had been decidedly different. Before seeing little snatches of Gabriel's bare skin peeking out from under his clothes didn't make his mouth run dry. Before Gabriel's smile didn't make his heart thump unevenly in his rib cage.

Before...well.

That was then. This is now, and he's pretty sure all of this is bad, that this shouldn't be happening. Yet, it is, and he doesn't know what to think of it. He knows that he should back away from him, put a little distance (like a whole state, maybe) between them, but Gabriel's fingers are kneading at the tender spots on his knee as he sips at his drink and scans the menu. Then he's popping another cherry into his mouth and Crowley watches the movement of jaw, the way his muscles flex as his tongue knots another stem. There's a whole little pile of them on the table, next to their empty glasses. It's kind of weird. It's kind of arousing, too, actually, and-

"You got hot," He blurts.

Gabriel turns his head to look at him, "Huh?"

There's still cherry juice on his lip. Crowley's eyes dart between that and his eyes and Gabriel lifts an eyebrow. He wants to kiss him. _Don't kiss him_, his mind scolds. But he looks stupidly handsome, with his hair just properly out of place and his pupils dilate a little more as he blinks at him. He can count the faint spattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose from this distance. They're close. Gabriel smells like cheap hotel soap and faintly earth-musky, and he can catch faint whiffs of cherries and something else sweet, like grenadine syrup.

"You..." He struggles with something to say for a moment before he shrugs his shoulders, "You got hot. Your arms fit you. You're not, ah, you're not all..._gangly_."

"You are drunk."

"So are you."

"Oh."

Gabriel says this like he never noticed his level of intoxication until just now. He looks down at his now empty glass and sighs at it, like it's emptied itself to personally offend him, which he very well might believe. It wouldn't surprise Crowley at all, actually. Then he just shrugs and looks at him and they just stare at one another before Crowley makes a decision.

He leans in and he kisses him.

Which is exactly what the sober part of his brain said not to do, but listening to his brain has never been high on his list of priorities (if it was, he'd probably be at home in LA at this point) so he runs with what he can. Gabriel tenses beneath his lips, and then all Crowley can think is _oh shit _and _I fucked up _at least seven or eight times.

Then Gabriel kisses him back.

It's just a return of pressure against his mouth but it's so worth it; so, so, so worth it, because Gabriel's lips are a little chapped but they're soft and pliant and his hand is squeezing his knee so Crowley shifts in his seat a bit more to face him properly. Then the temptation gets to be too hard to ignore, so he smooths his tongue along Gabriel's lower lip and its sweet and cherry flavoured and Gabriel actually makes a little noise in his throat (which is so hot that it should actually be against several laws) and kisses him a little harder.

When they break apart, they stay close together, foreheads bumping lightly - Crowley's spread his legs a bit so Gabriel can ease between them and he's using his thighs to help balance him. He's a little wobbly. But there's a flush riding high on his cheeks and he's smiling, tonguing his lower lip experimentally like it might be different now that he's kissed him. It does look a little swollen. He should fix that.

Crowley kisses him, again.

Just a peck, and Gabriel laughs in this quiet, breathless way that Crowley's never heard before. But he likes it, likes the way that him kissing him seems to leave him in that state. So he does it again and smirks and tips his head. Gabriel squeezes his knee.

"You _are _drunk," He says softly, thumping his forehead lightly against his. Crowley touches his hand and then threads their fingers together.

"Maybe. Just a little."

"You kissed me."

"You kissed me back."

"I did," He smiles and pulls back to fix him with his most serious drunken stare, "You made me swallow my cherry stem."

Crowley tries not to burst out laughing, "Did I really?"

"You have to make it up to me now."

"And how can I do that?"

Gabriel leans in closer again; he crowds into his space in a way that he hasn't done before and Crowley finds he's leaning in to it, even if he's not sure why. Gabriel's fingers slide up his thighs to his hips and he pulls him closer. The chair scrapes across the floor.

"Kiss me again."

So he does.


	12. Chapter 12

AN:  
i wanted to post this yesterday but other things happened and i didn't end up doing it.  
but its up now and i like this chapter so enjoy?

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 12._

Abaddon has literally been driving all night.

Ever since the call from Luke, who told her to go to Wichita. There had been activity on his bank account there. Gabriel had drained the whole thing, all sixteen hundred dollars of it. Even Michael had been on the phone for that conversation, and he had been surprisingly respectful. That bite had still been there, to be expected, but he'd said please and thank you.

Michael had always handled her with a certain disdain and condescension because he found her to be repulsive, nothing but bottom feeding trash, and Abaddon doesn't like him for it, but its not as if she can do much about it. Besides, she's not doing it for Michael. She's doing it for Luke, and even then, that's barely the reason. It's just extra motivation.

She's doing this because she wants to see Crowley's head in her hands. She wants to destroy him, the slimy bastard, she wants to see him kneeling before her, begging for her mercy. She wants to feel his windpipe under her heel and hear him take his final breath. This two steps behind game is old, and she pulls the car into parking lot at the border patrol office and heads inside.

Some women complained about their femininity, about how it made them weak and looked down upon, how they wanted to be more masculine to gain the same privileges as men. Abaddon thinks they're simpering idiots who had no idea what kind of power they actually possessed - she could weaponise that weakness because nobody ever suspected the sweet, doe-eyed red-head, batting her eyelashes and going _Who, me_? She had men who worked under her, obeyed her because they wanted her to like them, to notice them, to touch their cheeks and smile.

Men are weak.

And the look of surprised terror as she crushed them under her boot...well, that was worth every moment she had to play that shy, doe-eyed girl.

By now, Gabriel and Crowley should have passed through. When she approaches the desk, the man on the other side gives her a smile and tips his head. His name tag reads Samandiriel and he looks like he's about fifteen. Abaddon tries not to roll her eyes.

"Good afternoon, Miss. How can I help you?"

"Hello," She greets, digging in her bag to produce an aged photo of Gabriel. It's from last summer, according to Luke; "I have a problem. See, my younger brother...he's run away from home and...oh, gosh. He's all I have in the world. And I'm so worried about him, its awful. I heard he was coming through this way, and I was just...could you pass this photo around, see if anyone recognizes him? I need to find him."

The boy's eyes soften a bit in pity and Abaddon bites down her snarl, "Of course I can. You wait right here. Oh, do you want some tea? Coffee?"

"You're an angel. Coffee would be lovely, thank you."

She takes a seat and watches him as he disappears. She hears the low murmurs of voices, and then he reappears with the coffee, two sugars and two creams, and hands it to her. She takes it with a grateful smile and sips at it as he excuses himself to check with the other patrol officers outside.

If they did pass through here, they'd know, and she would find them.

Abaddon waits exactly fifteen minutes before he comes back, looking disheartened.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but nobody has seen your brother pass through. We even checked the tapes. Are you sure that he came through here?"

Rage sparks under her skin, like a fire's been lit, and Abaddon bites her tongue as she looks down at her coffee, playing disappointment. She huffs out a breath that could be disguised as a weak sob and then covers her mouth with her hand. Samandiriel touches her shoulder, gentle and comforting, then eases down into a chair next to her.

"Oh...I'm sure you'll find him. He'll turn up."

She nods. Luke wouldn't be happy with this development - not that she is, either. She wants Crowley dead. Finding Luke's dipshit brother was definitely not the priority. She wants to find and skin Crowley like the fucking snake he is. Slowly, she rises to her feet and bids the officer goodbye and she knows they watch her as she leaves, their eyes following her out of the building. The minute she's through the doors, she tosses the coffee cup to the cement and watches it explode with a minor note of satisfaction.

Then she finds the nearest payphone and plugs a quarter in. Luke answers, but she can hear Michael in the background.

"He didn't pass through the border."

Luke exhales, "Then?"

"I don't know," She hisses back, leaning against the door of the pay-phone, "I'm going back to Wichita to fucking strangle that asshole who said they were going for Canada though."

"Hey, shh," Luke's tone is soothing and Abaddon shuts her eyes and runs a hand through her hair, "Don't talk like that. You're going to find them. I have faith in you. So does Michael. We just have to think more like Gabriel would. What would we do if we were him?"

All the good that would do, she thinks, but she just sighs, "Of course."

"So, what's the plan? Where are you going now?"

Abaddon huffs, "Like I said, back to Wichita. I'm going to double check. I know Crowley, and I know he planned this to get a head start. And now he has it, the sneaky fucking prick. I'm going to find him and I'm going to gut him, Luke, so help me-"

"Abaddon," He sighs, "Stop that."

She bares her teeth in a snarl but doesn't say a word - Luke had always had an issue with her choice of vocabulary and every correction drove her up the wall. If he wasn't paying her bills, she would have dumped him ages ago; "Right. I'll phone you when I reach Wichita, okay?"

"Of course. Drive carefully. Do some deep breathing. I can't have you getting arrested for beating a man for driving too slow, okay?"

She huffs out a laugh, "Right. I'll do my best."

"Good girl. And hey, thank you."

"Of course. I'll bring your brother home, Luke. Michael. I promise you that much."

She hangs up and cracks her knuckles. She'd bring Gabriel _and _Crowley home - only Crowley would be making the trip in a body bag and Gabriel, well, he'd probably have two broken legs to keep him from running off again.

* * *

Crowley wakes up sprawled on his back on one of the motel beds, all the lights turned on around them. He blinks against the brightness and then drops an arm over his eyes in a futile attempt to block it out. That's when he becomes acutely aware of the heavy weight settled over top of him and after a moment of internal debate, he forces himself to glance down at whatever is draped over him.

It turns out to be Gabriel; half-dressed and still asleep, head pillowed on his collarbone.

Crowley has to fight down the urge to jerk backwards, like he's been scalded, and he bites down on his tongue. His headache stabs at his temple to remind him he's still hungover and he cringes at it and closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten.

_ Ten, nine, eight, seven, six...and a half, six and-_

"...The hell happened?"

"I was hoping you would have an answer for that."

He cracks an eye open to peer down at Gabriel, who still hasn't moved, but is now looking up at him. They stare at one another for a moment before Gabriel huffs; "Why don't you have a shirt on."

"I could ask you the same thing."

Gabriel shifts and then very cold fingers are prodding at his bare thigh, creeping higher and he does jump at that, jerking away a little. Gabriel winces and then swats at his knee.

"You don't have pants on."

His tone is accusatory. Crowley feels his cheeks flush and he looks away and makes a face. His head hurts. Then he catches sight of Gabriel's bare ankle peeking out from the foot of the bed, and he has a moment of grim satisfaction; "Neither do you."

"Oh."

They sit in silence for a long time, not sure how to untangle themselves or what to say until Gabriel clears his throat. Crowley dreads this more than the day his mum sat him down and said _Son, things between yer dad an' me aren't too good. So we're leavin', and we're goin' to America_.

"You kissed me."

He cringes without meaning to, "You kissed me back."

"You still kissed me first."

"Does _that _part of it really matter all that much?"

Gabriel sniffs, "Of course."

"Don't be ridiculous," There's this too long moment where they just look at one another and Gabriel looks like he wants to say something. Crowley beats him to it and just clears his throat and shakes his head; "We both had too much to drink. Let's just chalk it up to that and leave it where it is, yeah? It happened...whatever _it _is, and we can't change that but we certainly don't have to dwell on it."

He takes his chance and wiggles his way out from under Gabriel, who makes an indignant noise at the rough handling, and leaves him in a bit of a heap on the bed as he moves toward the table to put a pot of coffee on to brew. He can feel that he's being watched so he grabs his pants and tugs them up, only to realize a beat too late that they're not his pants.

They're Gabriel's.

(He has this strange, foggy memory of taking those pants off, Gabriel beneath him as he slid them over his hips, kissed his jaw and his throat and, oh, Christ, that did happen. That wasn't a wet dream or a fantasy. That was real life. That was _his _life.)

"What are you going to do in Chicago?"

Crowley pauses in the middle of his search for his pants, "Excuse me?"

"I said, what are you going to do in Chicago?"

"The same thing I do in LA," Crowley replies as he resumes searching and _finally _finds his pants, half hidden under the bed. They're a little dusty and he makes a face before brushing them off; "What do you think?"

"Are you going to stay with me?"

"Of course," He replies automatically, tugging his pants into place, "That's a rather stupid question, don't you think?"

"No," Gabriel says and Crowley tries not to roll his eyes, "Why do you want to stay together?"

Crowley opens his mouth to tell him that it's because they're best friends, _duh_, but that hadn't kept them together for the past few years. It had made things so unnecessarily complicated and he opens his mouth and then closes it again and struggles for a more honest answer.

Because he missed him, and he liked waking up to him in the same room, seeing his ridiculous bed-head and the way he kind of resembled a zombie until he had at least one cup of sickly sweet coffee. That he liked the way he hogged the bathroom and took up too much hot water and the way he seemed incapable of not spitting on the faucet when he brushed his teeth.

Gabriel lifts an eyebrow. Crowley wisely keeps his mouth shut.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"I was drunk."

Gabriel makes an annoyed noise and then he's climbing out of bed and stalking over. He grabs his face between his hands and presses their mouths together - Crowley inhales sharply and for a second, he doesn't think about anything except the fact that Gabriel's hands are cold but his lips are warm and _bloody hell_, what is his life these days? He's about to react, kiss him back, but Gabriel's pulling away and blinking at him, and it takes Crowley a second to realize that he is literally standing in front of him in his boxers. They have a smiley face on them. He's scanning his eyes, hopeful, looking for something that maybe isn't being said but is there, regardless.

Crowley knows that look, he's seen it before, a long time ago now, and he contemplates for a moment. What would this mean? What would this do? It's a big step, a step toward something that may be serious – and he isn't sure if he should take it. He's never been sure. But the last time pushed Gabriel away, far away, and he doesn't want that, not at all, so he leans in and kisses him lightly, right on the spot next to his mouth. He tastes like cherries still and he has a cowlick in a weird spot on the side of his head so all his hair is peaked upward but he looks perfect regardless. He's always been like that, though.

"...You're not drunk," He points out and Crowley rolls his eyes this time and nudges him with his hip before he loops his arms around his middle to pull him in and flush to his body; "Are you?"

"Nope."

"...so...we're-"

"Labels make it complicated," Crowley says, tipping his head to give Gabriel an appraising once over, "Lets not, yeah? We're just...us."

Gabriel lifts an eyebrow, "Us?"

"Shh," He kisses him again and he decides then that he probably won't ever be sick of being able to do that, and he definitely won't be sick of the way that Gabriel's body seems to meld into his, like they're two pieces of the same thing, becoming whole again. His hands settle on his hips and smooth along the bone - his skin is sleep-warm and soft under his touch and Gabriel just smiles; "One day at a time, yeah?

"Yeah, okay."


	13. Chapter 13

AN:  
so Monday morning at totally unreasonable hours...that's when i post my new chapters.  
i hope everyone likes this chapter. it's got some exciting bits in it!

ps. Gabriel totally can't drive.

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 13._

Gabriel was just barely fifteen and enjoying all that was left of the summer before high school.

It didn't even matter that Castiel had trailed after him like a lost puppy since June or that Luke and Michael wanted him in the door by ten thirty (even though he never was home by then, he always sauntered in at quarter to twelve and Michael fumed and Luke just grabbed his shoulder and said 'he's a kid. Let him be a kid.'). Even seeing Chuck didn't send the same ripple of anger through him – he came downstairs one early morning and found his Dad at their breakfast table with a cup of coffee and a bottle of whiskey. Chuck looked at him and Gabriel looked back and when Chuck smiled, Gabriel found that he did too. They didn't say anything but Gabriel got it. He thought he understood him.

On the fifth day of seeing him, at barely ten past nine on a warm, bright Thursday, Chuck raised his mug in mock salute.

"Give 'em hell, Gabe."

"I will, Chuck."

Crowley was always outside waiting on his bike on the curb when he would bound down the front porch. His smile was wide and warm and it made Gabriel's chest tighten. Their actual afternoons were spent doing nothing else but hanging out around the city – they cruised around on their bikes and caused trouble, naturally. Gabriel showed off a lot and Crowley sighed more than a fifteen year old should. His favourite memory is the time that he bet Crowley five dollars and a fist full of candy that he could clear the fountain in the park and he wasn't even mad when he had to walk home in soggy sneakers as Crowley counted out his dollar bills.

In the evening they sat on the bleachers at the high school and Crowley smoked and Gabriel tapped the toes of his converse together and they listened to the sirens and the sounds of the city. Crowley told him about his summers in England, and his Dad, and his grandparents and his aunts and uncles and cousins. Gabriel didn't talk about his family. All that mattered was that moment, him and his best friend, and he could even ignore the weird knot he got in his gut whenever Crowley laughed, or the tingle of warmth his touch left behind – none of it mattered more than the now.

Luke had a party two weeks before school started and even though Michael grumbled, he came home with a case of beer and Luke made Sangria.

Gabriel stole a pitcher and four cans of his brother's booze and he and Crowley hid under the porch. The dirt was cool under their bare feet, hidden from the heat of the day and they sipped their stolen drinks and listened to the party – the tiki lights Luke set up bathed their hideout in muted reds and blues and Crowley's eyes gleamed. Gabriel had been having dreams about him. Stupid, childish dreams where they were grown ups living together in downtown LA, and he kissed Crowley in those dreams like he would kiss a lover, like he used to think about kissing that girl who was in his homeroom, Naomi or something like that.

The last thing he remembered hearing Crowley say was something about the beer leaving a weird aftertaste in his mouth.

Everything was hazy and fuzzy, but he had leaned over and he had kissed him. He had tasted slightly bitter., but still sweet, in that lingering sort of way, like red wine and oranges. Gabriel had squeezed his eyes shut because that was what they did in the movies.

But it hadn't ended like it did in the movies.

Crowley had jerked away, looked him up and down, like he didn't recognize him, and it had been the longest moment of Gabriel's entire life. And then Crowley had stood up as best he could in the confined space and left, walked away and he didn't look back. Gabriel had stayed hidden beneath the porch, even after the party ended, until it was dark. He was almost asleep in the quiet of the night, kept company by the sound of Luke's voice drifting through the open patio door, yelling to Michael about the mess and the dishes, when the the trap door on the side by the steps had creaked open and Gabriel still doesn't think about how he prayed for it to be Crowley.

It wasn't – it was Chuck. He had sat down in the dirt with him and he had sighed, softly, "Are you okay?"

Gabriel didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything.

"Are you going to sleep in here tonight?"

"...yeah."

Chuck had patted his shoulder, and he looked like he maybe wanted to say more. Offer more than nothing, more than he usually did, but he didn't. He just nodded shortly, and then he left – the next morning, when Gabriel crept back in, he wasn't downstairs. The house was silent, still, bathed in early morning sunshine. When he walked outside to leave for the day, Crowley wasn't waiting for him and he understood. He got it; the message wasn't that hard to decipher to start with.

Two days later, Michael talked to him about his social circle and how important it would be in high school.

(He pretended that the fact that Crowley hadn't called in two days didn't matter because it didn't.)

They didn't talk for the remainder of the summer – Gabriel laid around the house and played cards and board games with Castiel when he wasn't busy spending time with his own friends. But there was only so much _Go Fish_ and _Clue_ a fifteen year old boy could play. So he started to set things on fire in his wastepaper basket and he got even better at getting under his older brother's skin (and their feet). He spent the last weekend before school staring at the ceiling, sprawled out on the couch in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt.

When the first day of school rolled around, he saw Crowley from across the parking lot.

They made eye contact and Gabriel had stepped down on the constricting feeling in his chest and the jealous burn at the sight of Alistair's hand on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley looked like he might come over. He looked like he might close the gap that was rapidly opening up between them.

Gabriel turned away from him and waved down Balthazar.

"Yo! Balthazar! My man! What've you got for third period dude!"

* * *

They spend two more days in Springfield.

Mostly, they hang around the hotel - they take in the odd sight that they can find, but its nice and quiet and comfortable. For the first time since they left, Crowley thinks they might be safe. They might be okay. They had their head start, at least, and money and a destination. Their third day in Springfield brings thick, dark clouds and by mid-morning its pouring.

Gabriel is in the middle of dropping his bag in to the trunk when it starts and all he can do is start to laugh as the rain begins to fall, soaking him entirely. Crowley is just coming out of the room and he shakes his head at the sight of Gabriel out by the car, staring up at the blackened sky, arms spread wide as his shoulders shake.

"What the hell, God!"

In the distance, thunder rumbles and Gabriel laughs harder.

Regardless, they pack up and head out. Crowley wonders if this is Mother Nature telling them that they've started something new here, that something is rising up from the ruined remains of their old friendship. They put on Lilith's new wave tape as they drive out of the city and in to the countryside and it takes some pleading, but Gabriel gets them off course, again, at a place called The Devil's Elbow. There's a bridge, and its still raining; the air is warm, but there's a new freshness to it, and they stand on the bridge and watch the river below and when Gabriel takes his hand to hold, Crowley doesn't say a word. There's a quiet sort of majesty to this whole area, the thick forest and the roll of the hills, spring time green and fresh, and even though they're soaked Crowley knows he doesn't want to be anywhere else at this moment in time.

It's been a long time since he's been able to say that with any sort of certainty.

When he looks over at him, Gabriel is smiling, droplets of water tracing their way down his cheeks, dripping off the ends of his hair, which has plastered itself to his forehead. Crowley nudges him gently with one hip and nods back to the car.

"C'mon. Let's—mmf."

Gabriel kisses him – he tastes kind of like candy (Sour Patch Kids), and when he pulls away, he huffs out a laugh and grins, "Sorry. I've always wanted to do that. Kiss in the rain? It seems romantic. Or whatever. You know."

He does know, that's the sad thing. Crowley goes to kiss him again but Gabriel weaves his way out of his grasp and starts back to the car, giving a couple of good spins as he crosses the bridge deck. He's laughing, and smiling, his eyes bright, and he singsongs 'keep up' over one shoulder as he reaches the car.

Crowley just shakes his head and goes after him.

* * *

St. Louis is the next stop on their way to Chicago.

It's actually not a bad drive – the rain lets up after about an hour but the sky remains cloudy and grey. They listen through Alistair's tape again, which is a mix of new wave synthpop and hair metal that is five kinds of weird, before they decide to just forgo music altogether and enjoy the silence. It's serene in a way that Crowley could actually get used to.

It's past dark when they roll in to St. Louis and Gabriel is mostly asleep in the passenger seat, though he does stir when Crowley puts the car in to park at the hotel. He sits up and rubs at his eyes, looking around to try and get his bearings again.

"We make it?"

"Yeah," Crowley unbuckles and opens the driver door, "Come on. We gotta book a room before the place closes. It's almost eleven."

"Seriously?" Gabriel puffs out a breath and sits up a bit more, "Sheesh. Day's kind of gone-"

He doesn't finish his sentence. Crowley turns to look at him to see just what cat got his tongue, but he doesn't get the chance. Before he can even register what exactly Gabriel is staring at, he's being hauled out of the car by Abaddon. She drags him a bit, just out of reach of the car door, before throwing him down at her feet.

"Hi Crowley."

"Gabriel, go!"

He barely gets to say it before Abaddon's fist is introducing itself to his face.

"Not this time," She hisses, "Do you think you're a funny guy, Crowley? Because sending me on a wild goose chase to the Canadian border? I don't find these things particularly _funny_."

"Didn't enjoy that one, eh?"

She hits him again. Harder, this time. Crowley can see the car from the corner of his eye, see Gabriel standing by the driver's door – more importantly, he can see _Luke_, standing next to him, hand on his shoulder.

Bloody _Hell_.

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Oh, Crowley," Abaddon purrs, kneeling down in front of him so they're eye level, "I wouldn't worry about him. I would worry about yourself."

"Luke!" Crowley calls, "Don't hurt him. I made him leave. I forced him. So you better leave him alone."

"He's my brother," He hears Luke say, and then there's the crunch of gravel as he approaches. Before long, he's staring up at him, and Gabriel, who is looking between Abaddon and his older brother; "I'm not here to hurt him. I'm here to take him home, where he belongs."

He squeezes his shoulder. Gabriel winces. Then he turns, and he starts to walk away, toward a parked car that looks like it might be Abaddon's. Gabriel goes along with him, though he does look back over one shoulder at him and for a brief moment, their eyes meet - then Abaddon shifts into his line of sight and bares her teeth in a smile.

"You're not leaving St. Louis, Crowley. You're going to die here. I win."

_Damnit_.

His only hope for survival is walking away with his older brother, and it's a very, very long shot, but-

"Gabriel-!" Abaddon's fist collides with his jaw and Crowley's vision swims for a moment. He blinks a few times to bring things back in to focus; "Gabriel! Come on! Come on, you're—you can do something! Do it! Stand up to-"

Abaddon's mid swing to hit him again when she's suddenly thrown to the side and off her feet. She lands hard in the dust with a furious cry, and Gabriel's on top of her, pinning her down. Luke is holding a bloody nose a few feet away and Gabriel just looks expectantly at Crowley before he shouts, "Run!"

Then Luke is advancing toward them, despite the blood, and then Gabriel is jumping off Abaddon's chest to grab Crowley and drag him up to his feet. They hurry toward the car and Gabriel all but shoves him into the backseat before he hops into the driver's side and cranks the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life and then they're lurching forward toward the highway again.

"Can you even drive?" Crowley demands, sitting up enough to see Luke running after them, "Bloody hell!"

"Does that really matter right now?" Gabriel says back to him, narrowly avoiding being t-boned by another car as he gets them out of the parking lot and onto the road, "Just...buckle up, okay?"

Crowley does just that.


	14. Chapter 14

AN:  
I don't say it enough but big thank you to my beta Cathrin (singingsin on here go read her shit she's awesome) for checking my shit over and doing it so damn fast so i could get this up in time!  
you're literally the coolest person i know.

have a chapter friends and be happy!

(fun fact, the location for this chapter is a real church in St. Louis, MO called Saint Gabriel the Archangel Catholic Church and i spent a good two hours studying the interior layout based on photos while writing this chapter. i'm still sketchy on it though. LOL.) 

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 14._

They're hiding out in a church.

They'd driven frantically further into St. Louis until Gabriel had spotted it, like a safe haven and beacon. He'd parked a few blocks away and they'd made the walk over as quickly, and quietly, as possible. Now they're huddled at the front of the row of pews on the floor, Gabriel wadding up one of his spare t-shirts to press to Crowley's bloody nose and lip. The streetlamps outside cast weird shadows across the floor through the stained glass windows and Gabriel keeps checking over one shoulder, like he expects his brother to burst through the door any second.

"I didn't think you'd hit Luke."

"Neither did I," Gabriel admits, softly, pulling the shirt away to look, "I think you're going to live."

"Thank God."

Gabriel laughs and then leans back against the pew. He tips his head back and sighs up at the ceiling, "Now what?"

"We wait," Crowley answers, "What else can we do?"

"You do realize we're sitting ducks right now."

"Like that's any different than any other time on this trip?" Crowley asks and Gabriel huffs, "Hey. Hey, just...breathe. We're okay."

"For now. For...as long as it takes for them to catch up. And then what? She was going to kill you, Crowley. She was going to..and I almost let her. I almost...walked away."

Crowley reaches for his hand and takes it, twining their fingers together. Gabriel lifts his head to look at him; "But you didn't."

"But-"

"You didn't," Crowley repeats, "That's what matters. Now come here. Relax. We'll be fine for tonight. We parked far enough away. I doubt those two have the combined brain cells to figure out where we are."

Gabriel does relax a bit – the tension in his shoulders dissipates a bit and after a second, he scoots over closer and actually lays himself down, pillowing his head against Crowley's thigh. It only takes a second before Crowley's fingers are combing through his hair, still slightly damp at the nape of his neck from sweat. They sit in silence for a long time, just listening to each others breathing and the stillness of the cathedral. Eventually, Gabriel's breathing evens out completely and when Crowley glances down, he's asleep and all he can do is smile a little and try to get a little more comfortable.

* * *

Dawn comes in bright through the stained glass – the whole church is lit up in varying shades of reds and blues and greens and Crowley spends a long time just staring at the different images in the glass, different Saints and Angels that he doesn't really know the names of. He's pretty sure his Grandmum would be ashamed of him at this point.

"I think that's Peter," Gabriel says, quietly, nodding toward one of the wingless men, "The Saint."

"You think?"

"So I didn't exactly pay attention to Michael's bible studies. Sue me," His gaze shifts to the giant cross hanging above the altar, then lower down, to the hand painted image beneath the altar and his lips twist into a smile, "You know who that is?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

"Archangel Gabriel," he turns his head to look up at Crowley, who is staring down at him, eyebrow raised, "What?"

"Thought you said you didn't pay attention."

"Only to some of it," He says, giving him a bit of a grin, "Some of it was cool."

"I'm pretty sure that's somewhat blasphemous."

"A lot of what I do is," Gabriel says with a shrug, rolling onto his stomach, his chin dropping onto Crowley's thigh. He's quiet, for a moment, before he glances up at him; "So now what do we do?"

"Keep driving, I guess," Crowley answers after a moment of thought, "Ditch the car and get another new one and go up to Chicago. Maybe keep going after that. Canada, out further east. I'd say Mexico, but I think we missed that a few hundred miles ago, don't you?"

"Probably," Gabriel exhales, "You think they found the car outside?"

"Maybe," Crowley looks up to Jesus and wonders if he's watching them, having a good laugh at all this. They did say he was always around, always watching...or was that Santa Claus? He can never remember; "More likely is that they assume we fled the city and they're on the highway north as we speak. How did they even find us in the first place?"

"Luke said luck," He answers, "Said he saw the car from the road. Some dude at the bank gave up what we were driving."

Crowley sighs, "He say anything else that's going to be particularly helpful?"

Gabriel shakes his head, and then presses his face down against his leg. Crowley can feel his breath through his jeans, hot against his thigh. It kind of tickles, and after moment, he nudges him so he sits up. It takes a bit of effort, but he ends up pulling him onto his lap and he settles his hands on his hips.

"We're going to figure this out, you know."

"Since when are _you _the optimistic one?"

"I told you," Crowley leans in, just enough to kiss him, slow and gentle, "I'm the Bueller of this relationship."

"I am so not Cameron."

"Nah," Crowley kisses him again and chuckles, "Not Cameron. I think you've graduated to Sloane."

"...You're an asshole."

"Mm, probably."

When he kisses him this time, it's a little more urgent and a little less gentle. He flicks his tongue against his bottom lip and absolutely revels in the low moan Gabriel lets out when he nips at the same spot, drags his teeth over it – then Gabriel's grinding his hips against his, just so, and a shudder works its way down Crowley's back to settle warm at the base of his spine.

"Hey," Gabriel breathes when he pulls away. There's a flush riding high on his cheekbones that Crowley finds he really likes; "I'm pretty sure _this _is blasphemous."

"And here I thought you were an expert in that. Really, Gabriel, I'm-" He grinds his hips down again and Crowley's breath stutters in his throat, "Okay. You made your point. We'll go."

"Thank you."

"But we're continuing this in the first hotel room we find. Are we clear?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

"We have to tell Dad."

"We don't have to tell Dad," Luke says, probably for the fifth time since he decided to phone home to inform his brother that they did not have Gabriel back yet,

"What do we even tell him, Michael? Oh, oops, sorry, we lost our baby bro, Dad! And he's taken all the savings we hid from you! Guess Castiel isn't getting a college education after all! Sorry!"

"I knew this was a bad idea," Michael says back at him, "Hiring _her_ was supposed to prevent this and she-"

"We didn't _hire _Abaddon," Luke says, and then he sighs, looking back over one shoulder. Abaddon is perched on the hood of her car, idly inspecting her nails, smiling at the occasional passerby, all charm and no bite. But he knows her, better than he'd like to admit, and she's far from the sweet girl she pretends to be; "She's doing me a favour, Michael. So enough."

Luke can practically hear his brother rolling his eyes.

"Look. Just man the phone in case Gabriel calls, okay? I'll handle finding him."

He hangs up before Michael can protest and he wonders briefly if he learnt that from Gabriel or if it was the other way around.

Abaddon looks up from her fingers when he approaches and lifts an eyebrow, "Hows his holiness Michael?"

Luke leans himself against the car next to her and folds his arms across his chest, focusing his gaze out at the open stretch of highway in front of them. His brother isn't that clever – finding him shouldn't be this damn difficult. But Gabriel always did have that nasty habit of surprising him, especially when he least expected it. But he'd had a whole lifetime to learn Gabriel's tricks, and he had, for the most part. He had always been the one his brother had turned to, not Michael, which did give him some small measure of satisfaction. Gabriel had never liked Michael quite like he liked him, even when he was very small. Therefore, he just needs to think. He really needs to think, plan as if he were Gabriel, use that intimate knowledge to figure out exactly where his little brother would go in a panic. He's predictable, if nothing else.

"Useless, as I expected."

Abaddon laughs, quietly, and shakes her head, "I'd be shocked if he came up with a useful suggestion, actually."

Luke hums his agreement, and Abaddon slides off the hood of the car to stand up again. She steps her way into his line of sight and touches her hands to his forearms, just lightly, and she seems harmless, like this. But he knows her.

"Now where?"

They're rapidly losing daylight, stranded at this Texaco station just outside of St. Louis – they'd gone after Gabriel as quickly as they could after he'd sped off, and they did find the car, parked in some dead end neighbourhood but it had been empty. After circling the block several times, they'd come up with nothing and kept driving. They had gotten lucky the last time - Luke doesn't expect it again.

"...Chicago."

Abaddon's hands still against his arms, "why Chicago?"

"Because," Luke smiles and unfolds his arms to reach out and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, "That's where Bueller is."


	15. Chapter 15

AN:  
ack this is technically late. but I was out of the country for a convention this weekend and even though I didn't get home that late, i was so wiped i didnt feel like looking this over and doing the final editing and clean up after Cathrin read it over.

we're getting in to the final stretch here, people! deep breaths. 

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 15._

The first hotel room they find is in Springfield, Illinois, and it's old, not really up to Crowley's standards of hygiene or decor but he can hardly care about that. Not when he's got Gabriel underneath him, arching his back and making all these needy, hungry little noises in his throat.

This topped any porno that Alistair shoved under his nose, hands down.

Even if it is ten kinds of fucked up, because this is his best friend and he's currently sucking an angry looking purple hickey onto his pulse point and revelling in the way Gabriel's thighs tense against his, or the way his fingers twist into the sheets. The room is seven degrees too hot and Crowley sits up enough to tug his shirt off and then Gabriel's hands are everywhere, smoothing over his chest, down then up, over his shoulders and he pulls him down again, tangles his fingers into his hair.

"What are we doing?"

Gabriel's voice is pitched low and husky and it sends heat to Crowley's gut.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't, ah, find this weird?"

"Weird? How weird?" Crowley thinks Gabriel's wearing too much clothing, so he starts to work on undoing his belt. He's reprimanded with a light tug to his hair and he huffs, "What is the matter."

"Dude...we're kissing."

"Yes, and?"

"You don't find this weird _at all_?"

"We're horny eighteen year olds," Crowley says as he tries for the belt again. Gabriel tugs at his hair and he tries not to make a face. So close; "Gabriel. What do you want me to tell you? Yes. This is a bit strange. But it's not...a bad strange, so lets just..._carry on_."

"We're _making out_."

"And this is suddenly a problem?"

"It's always been...well, not a problem, but it's-" Gabriel sighs and props himself up on his elbows. His cheeks are flushed red and his hair is a mess and there's a tent in his jeans but he seems damned well dead set on discussing all this, which is absurd as far as Crowley is concerned. Why did they need to discuss anything? He never _discussed _anything with Lilith, and they had a perfectly functional relationship...sort of; "Look. Can you...put a shirt on or something?"

"Are you _serious _right now, Gabriel?"

Gabriel lifts an eyebrow. Crowley tries not to scowl. Instead he decides to be ridiculously childish and he leans into Gabriel's space to kiss at his throat again, despite the tugs of protest at his hair. He squawks something that might be 'Crowley quit it' or close to that, but all those protests die out when Crowley grinds his hips against his.

"You were saying?"

"How long-" Gabriel's voice chokes out with a moan when Crowley does it again, "How long have you...have you ever...thought about this before?"  
Crowley pulls back enough to look at him, "Are you asking me if I've fantasized about you?"

"...No."

"You are, you dirty little bugger."

Gabriel makes a face, "So not what I meant."

"I might have," Crowley reaches between them to catch the end of Gabriel's shirt in one hand, starting to ease it upward, "Once...maybe twice. You're a handsome little shit, you know that?"

Each inch of exposed skin is like torture – he sits back and continues to ease his shirt up, and Gabriel even is nice enough to help, wiggling the rest of the way to get it off and Crowley tosses it to the side before he takes a moment to admire.

"Definitely grew into those gangly arms of yours."

"Shut up."

Crowley takes some modicum of pleasure from the fact that he's managed to derail the conversation from the details of whatever this is – they're back on course with fucking around, which is something he's much more interested in doing. Gabriel still looks unsure though, and Crowley sighs and runs a hand over Gabriel's stomach. He squirms, and bites down a laugh.

"You're still ticklish, eh?"

"Don't you friggin' dare."

Crowley twitches his fingers and Gabriel's body tenses as he sucks in a breath. There's a moment where they just look at one another and then Crowley smirks and laughs, softly, shifting to drop down onto the bed next to him. Gabriel turns his head to glance at him and their eyes meet before he turns away again to look back up at the ceiling.

"You still want this?"

Gabriel sits up on one elbow, "This, or you?"

"Both. You pick."

"I do."

"...This, or me?"

Gabriel smiles, a little, "Both."

Something warm and satisfied uncurls in Crowley's chest, and he reaches out to take Gabriel's hand. He twines their fingers together and he knows they will have to label this eventually – he isn't so foolish to think that Gabriel wouldn't push the subject sooner or later, the persistent bastard, but for now, he could distract and divert the subject.

Labelling it made it something. Labelling it meant they were more than horny eighteen year olds screwing around with each other, just trying to get themselves off in any way they could. Labels meant feelings and attachments and it made it real and honestly, they had enough to deal with. There isn't any reason to throw feelings into the mix.

After a minute or two, Gabriel settles back against his side, tucks himself against him and makes himself comfortable and Crowley can't ignore the way they fit together, seamless and familiar. And it's bizarre, but comforting, and he curls an arm around Gabriel's bare shoulder and rubs his hand over the smooth slope of his skin and shuts his eyes.

* * *

It's dark when Crowley stirs and sits up.

Gabriel is next to him, face smooshed into a pillow, his breathing slow and even. The clock glows red through the darkness, reading just after two AM. He can hear traffic outside the window as he slides out of bed and stands, stretching so his back clicks a little. Gabriel doesn't so much as move when he opens the door and steps out into the night air.

They'll have to ditch the car again, he realizes, and then probably change their names.

They're not far from Chicago. They'd almost made it, but he's not even sure if that's the end of all this – for now, it would be, but eventually Abaddon and Luke would catch up and then what? How long could they feasibly run from them before they finally found them? Taking Gabriel had never been the plan, but he'd always been shoddy at saying no to him. And it was a chance; recapturing what they had years ago had been the entirely selfish and stupid reason but he'd wanted it, he'd wanted an opportunity at reconciling with him.

Crowley knows he was foolish. He's not usually like that, but Gabriel had that effect on him – he'd always had this uncanny ability to get under his skin, burrow into the carefully compartmentalized parts of him and uproot it, unearth it all. He peeled him down to his bones and watched his inner workings, broke him down and built him up and Crowley both hates and loves that he can do that still. No one has ever done that, not Lilith or Alistair or anyone, but Gabriel does it without trying, without meaning to. It's a strange feeling, to have someone who knows you to such a cellular level, right down to the molecules that made you up. And Gabriel knows. Gabriel has always known, right from the very beginning.

The door creaks open behind him and then a hand is sliding down the back of his arm to touch his elbow, gentle – the fingers are warm, and when he looks over one shoulder, Gabriel is looking at him, quiet and expectant. His hair is a mess, and the pillow left a pattern on his cheek.

"Can't sleep?"

"Nah," Crowley looks back to the highway, "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Doesn't matter. C'mon," He turns and shoos Gabriel back inside, "In. Your brother and Abaddon are going to figure out where we went eventually, so we have to be gone first thing, and I don't want to hear you whining tomorrow morning."

"Dude, I don't _whine._"

* * *

Gabriel complains and grumps, and just generally whines, from the minute Crowley wakes hm up at six fifteen AM.

But he does get up and they load in to the car and keep driving, and it's not long before they start seeing signs proudly proclaiming the miles between them and Chicago. The numbers get smaller and smaller as they go and Crowley feels this weird sense of calm slowly seeping over him. He feels like they've made it. They'd actually made it, somehow – they're so close he can nearly taste it now, and that's a strange and lovely thought all at once.

They could ditch the car on the outskirts of the city and then Luke and Abaddon could never find them.

Beside him, Gabriel buzzes with restless energy – he taps his toe against the floor and fidgets with the windows, mindlessly spinning the handle, eyes focused at the scenery as it moves past them.

"First thing we're doing is getting pizza. I hope you know that."

Crowley rolls his eyes, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Shut up. I want deep dish. Real deep dish."

"Yes, yes," He knows Gabriel will hold him to this but at this point, he finds he doesn't mind as much as he should; "Deep dish. Got it."\

"I'm serious."

"I know you are Gabriel."

Gabriel is deceptively good at knowing when he's being dismissed - Crowley can feel him looking at him. Sure enough, when he glances over at him, Gabriel is fixing him with his best serious face, eyebrow cocked up, and Crowley just sighs.

"We'll get you a deep dish pizza. I promise."

"You better."

"Scouts honour," He turns back to the road. "By the way, we need to trade the car in."

"Again?"

Crowley nods shortly and the conversation drains away as they continue forward toward Chicago. They stop to eat in Bloomington and they gas up again, even though they don't really need to at this point. Gabriel dicks around in the store, shopping for road treats and soda for them to drink and Crowley stands off by the payphone and the side of the highway and smokes a cigarette. That restless energy Gabriel hummed with is contagious and the promise of the city is making him anxious and kind of uncomfortable and the smoke helps but not enough.

Then they resume driving, and the scenery gives way into open stretches of farmlands and miles of empty fields – the sky is clear and the air is warm and the radio hums with some song Crowley doesn't know. Gabriel mouths the words next to him and drums his fingers against his thighs in time with the music. It's endearing, but if Crowley has learned anything on this trip, its that Gabriel does a lot of things that are strangely endearing so he supposes he should get used to it.

They're just outside of Pontiac when Gabriel sighs and looks at him.

"You're still determined to not talk about any of this?"

"Any of this being...what, exactly?"

"Us," Gabriel says, leaning forward to twist the radio's volume down, "We are going to have to talk about it eventually."

"Don't see why. We're doing just fine."

He can practically feel Gabriel rolling his eyes, and he does hear him huff but the conversation lulls. Crowley doubts that will be the end of it because he know Gabriel and he knows he's stubborn and he's got it in his head that they need to discuss whatever it is that's between them. Crowley finds that whole idea kind of pointless because it is what it is and labels _did _complicate things and why couldn't they just be? Why did it need a name, a title, why did it need to be discussed? When he risks a glance at Gabriel, he's pouting a little, gazing out the window silently and Crowley contemplates taking his hand but he decides against it.

He knows all of this could have been avoided if he hadn't been such a damn coward all those years ago, if he'd faced whatever this was that had always been between them instead of running away. But Gabriel had startled the shit out of him and he'd made it awkward by not at least returning the kiss, and then he'd hauled ass out of their hiding place and left Gabriel behind. He'd sat at home for the rest of the summer, dialling Gabriel's number and then hanging up, too nervous to actually let it ring.

(Though, once he did and Castiel picked up, but Crowley had hung up before Castiel could even finish saying 'Novak Residence', which had pissed him off even more, somehow.)

When he'd saw Gabriel at school that first day, he had this stupid notion that he could make things okay again. Tell a joke, make Gabriel laugh, ease back in to his life and then they could both forget that thoroughly embarrassing (but oddly wonderful) kiss, like it never happened. They could never discuss it, chalk it up to being too drunk, too horny, too young and foolish, too _something_.

But they couldn't do that and he'd known it the second Gabriel's eyes had met his across the parking lot.

Something was _broken_.

Something they couldn't fix. Something that not talking about wouldn't make better and then he'd turned away and waved down Balthazar and that had been it. The grand finale. The final chapter of their little saga, the unsatisfying finale foot note. Alistair had been right there, smiling in that easy way he did, and then Lilith, pretty blond Lilith, easing her fingers into his, inviting him to the smoke pit to hang out after class, and that had been it, really; they fell in together and high school had carried on. Luke was there, too, now that he thinks back on it. He was a senior, three years older, but he hung on the fringes of his social circle. Lilith thought he was handsome, and Crowley had a good laugh and told her to get in line behind the other girls in their grade. She'd huffed and chucked a pillow at his head and called him a dickhead.

It's funny how people change without changing.

"...Do you still want to talk?"

Gabriel looks at him, "Yeah."

"Then...talk."

He makes a face, "It's a discussion. Not an oral presentation."

"I'm trying here, Gabriel."

"Are you?"

"Yes. I am."

"Doesn't seem like you are."

Crowley gives him a look but opts against commenting on it. Starting a fight is the last thing he wants to do and he can tell that its going to be one of those drives, the kind that is tense and sort of uncomfortable because Gabriel can't just leave well enough alone sometimes.

Thank God for Chicago, because when the signs displaying the miles between them and the city dwindle more and more, Gabriel can't stay wound up and annoyed, and neither can Crowley. Soon, they can see the skyline and Crowley breathes out slow and flexes his fingers against the steering wheel.

"We're here."


	16. Chapter 16

AN:  
we're getting down to the last few chapters now!  
this fic will be around 18-19 chapters with an additional epilogue. I've actually finished up the drafting process, just needs to be edited.

again, thanks to everyone who's stuck with this and to singingsin for being my beta reader. you're a hero.

**Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.  
**_monoxidegirl  
Chapter 16._

They book a hotel in the heart of downtown Chicago and spend the rest of the day sightseeing. They start at the Sears Tower, then hail a cab over to Michigan Avenue, and Gabriel grins the entire way. They shop a little (well, Gabriel does – he buys some cheesy magnets and a couple of heinous t-shirts with Chicago's skyline on it and one really ugly one that has 'I heart Chicago' on it but Crowley can't begrudge him for liking stupid things) and then Gabriel drags him in to a deep dish pizzeria.

And Crowley hates to admit it, but they do make damned good pizza here.

It's so good it ought to be illegal. Very well might be in several places.

But they're happy, or at the very least they're content, and whatever tension was lingering in the car has been swept away by the majestic, old world sort of beauty of Chicago.

They eventually make their way over to the shores of Lake Michigan and Gabriel spots a long stretch of pier, so they head in that direction. There isn't much to be seen, unfortunately, so they don't stick around for long, instead wandering off down the streets. It's nearly dark when they spot it, just barely, and Crowley just shakes his head at it and nudges Gabriel.

"Route 66. Begin," He says before he resumes walking up the street, "Think we did that one a bit backwards."

"Huh."

Gabriel digs in one of the bags, pulls out the little disposable camera he picked up at the gift shop and takes the time to snap a photo of the sign. He has this stupid looking smile on his face and Crowley just stares at him as he catches up to him.

"What was the point of that?"

He'd been snapping photos all day, from the Tower to their stupidly delicious pizza to the hot waitress who served them their pizza.

"It's for Castiel," Gabriel says by way of explanation, shifting the bags between his hands before following after him, "He'd find it funny. Kid's got a weird sense of humour, so I know he'll like it."

Crowley doesn't have the heart to tell him he'll probably never see his brother again. It's not like he can – it's just not...possible, really. They couldn't go back to LA, not unless Abaddon kicked the bucket or Luke suddenly stopped being an asshole. They just couldn't. But how could he tell Gabriel that? How could he explain that to him without...starting a fight or upsetting him or something?

Chicago was their home now. That's all there was to it.

* * *

"You booked us one bed."

Gabriel's standing in the doorway to the room, arms heavy with bags, staring at their single queen sized bed with some form of surprise. Crowley rolls his eyes and pulls him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Well, obviously. We've only had one bed the entire time. You've never had a problem with sharing before now," he says, shrugging his jacket off to toss onto a nearby chair, "We had a two bed room in that hotel in Missouri and you slept in my bed anyway. What difference does it make?"

Gabriel shrugs, "I thought you'd book us one with two."

"Why spend the extra money?" he asks as he drops onto the bed. He scrubs a hand over his face then cranes his neck to look back toward the door. Gabriel's still standing there and he sighs before outstretching an arm to him; "Come. Come here."

He moves slow, almost cautious, easing down onto the bed next to him. Crowley's hand curls around his wrist and his thumb smooths over the top of his hand. They sit like that, quiet for a long time, until Gabriel sighs and Crowley rolls to face him.

"What?"

"What are we doing, man?"

"Going to bed?" Crowley offers, "It's pretty late. I could probably make it through some TV...but I've been driving all day and...I'm wiped. I don't know about you, but-"

"No, I mean, what are we doing with _us_."

"Us?"

"Yeah, us. You and me. Me and you. _Us_."

"I am aware of the definition of 'us', Gabriel. What about it?"

"Are we...I don't know. Dating?"

Crowley had been hoping to make it through the rest of the day without having to worry about this conversation popping back up. He should have known he wouldn't be that lucky, and after a second, he sighs and lets go of Gabriel's wrist to roll onto his back again. He should just say yes, shut the bugger up. But he doesn't know what to call this.

Gabriel sighs first, though, "Never mind. Just go to sleep."

* * *

Gabriel is up before him the next morning.

He comes in just after Crowley comes out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his hair. But Gabriel isn't alone; Luke is with him, Abaddon in tow, just behind him. Luke's nose is mottled with a bruise and she's got a white bandage on her temple, and they look decidedly unimpressed. Abaddon shuts the door and the lock clicks in to place and Crowley swallows down the lump in his throat.

Fantastic.

"That didn't take you long," Crowley says as he sits down on the bed, dropping the towel next to him, "You don't waste any time."

Luke shrugs, "What can I say? I know my brother. And I think we've wasted enough time, don't you?"

"Can't ever waste too much time."

Abaddon makes an unimpressed noise and looks as if she's about to respond but Luke raises a hand and silences her. He nods to his brother; "Get him out of the way first."

She does as she's told, grabbing Gabriel's arm to drag him toward the bathroom. He does fight, but she's surprisingly stronger and it doesn't take her much time to shove him in and slam the door. She clicks the lock in to place and almost instantly, Gabriel starts to bang his fists against the door, shouting his brother's name as loud as he can. Abaddon just soundlessly crosses the room to lean against the wall next to the door.

Luke exhales, "Look, Crowley. Let's just stop this game, okay? I'm bored. She's bored. We're all bored. Let's talk this out like adults."

"Adults. That's what you call sicking your attack dog on us?"

"Now, now. Let's not name call here. Abaddon is much more than that. But, we're getting off topic, friend. Let's stay on the subject at hand, alright?" Luke leans his weight against the kitchenette counter, "See, I couldn't care less if you dropped off the face of the Earth, Crowley. I can't stand you. I've never been able to stand you. You're a cockroach. A bottom feeding little insect that my brother, unfortunately, decided to slum around with. For whatever reason, you found your way in to Gabriel's good graces and he liked you. If it were up to me, and Michael, too, for that matter, we would have kicked your punk ass six ways from Sunday. But," he sighs and shakes his head as he casts a fond look toward the bathroom door, "You made him happy. So I let you two have your fun. Hell, I even convinced Michael to do the same. And how do you repay me, Crowley? You take _my business_. You take _my money_. Gabriel and Castiel's college money."

There's a dangerous snarl to his tone, unfamiliar, and Crowley suddenly understands how a man like Luke can command a woman like Abaddon. She's still standing obediently by the door, blocking the exit, arms folded across her chest and she's never looked more like a hired gun than she does now, slender and vicious and powerful.

"I could look past that, though. Couldn't really stop you, not without putting my actual position in this organization in jeopardy so, fine. We'll forget that. But then," Luke chuckles and pushes of the counter to step closer. His hands fist into Crowley's shirt and he drags him to his feet; "Then you _take _my brother. You take him, in the middle of the night. And you know, Crowley, I can't look past that. I can't look past you _messing _with my flesh and blood. My _brother_."

"I didn't make Gabriel do _anything_. He came with me on his own choice."

Luke lets him go. Steps back. Tips his head and then laughs softly. Wags a finger at him, like he's scolding a foolish child.

"He wouldn't do that."

"Yes, well. He did."

Luke's lips curl into a smile as he glances toward Abaddon, "How do you think we found you? How do you think we knew you'd come here, of all places? It's really actually quite simple, Crowley. It'll blow your mind. It's one thing. One totally simple thing."

"And what's that _thing_, Luke?" Abaddon moves from the door to stand beside him, "Enlighten him."

"Bueller. I knew Gabriel would come here because of Bueller."

Crowley's whole body feels cold. His eyes dart to the bathroom door, that Gabriel is still banging against, for just a second before Luke swings his fist and knocks it into his jaw. The force is strong enough to knock him off his feet and back onto the bed. Abaddon gives a sharp laugh and Crowley's mind reels as it fights through the force of the blow. Luke is deceptively strong and he manages to roll onto his back with a groan of pain.

"Bloody h_ell_...you've got a bitch of a right hook."

"I have two younger brothers. Who do you think taught Gabriel how to fight? Who do you think taught Gabriel everything? He learned all his tricks from me, you filthy little insect. That's why you didn't win. And even after Alistair warned you."

"...Alistair?"

"Oh, Crowley," the bed creaks as Abaddon sits next to him, her touch gentle as she brushes his hair back. Then she grabs a fist of it and yanks his head back to bare his neck to her; "You didn't think he was your friend, did you?"

"Alistair works for me," Luke says as he sits on his other side, "Always has."

"...What do you mean?"

"Well, it's simple, really," Luke leans back on his hands, "Something broke you two up. Something ended that useless little friendship. And I wanted to make sure it _stayed _ended. Michael introduced Uriel. I sent Alistar your way. Made sure you two stayed worlds apart. For one, I couldn't have you dragging Gabriel down to your level."

"So...when I called Alistair..."

"He reported directly to me, yeah. Ain't that a bitch? And the things he told me...oh, Crowley. The minute I heard you wanted to use Gabriel against me...well," He sighs, "That's when it became a really serious problem for me. See, people don't use my family like that. Just doesn't happen. So, here we are."

"You're one twisted human being, Luke. Really, really—Christ!"

Abaddon pulls hard enough on his hair to hurt.

Gabriel keeps slamming his fists against the door and every so often there's a thump that suggests he may even be throwing his weight against it and the wood does groan but it doesn't give. He's yelling something that sounds like 'let him go' or 'let me out' or maybe both and after a second, Luke sighs and stands up. He unlocks the door to the bathroom and opens it and then Gabriel comes tumbling out into the room. Crowley shifts to sit up but Abaddon tugs his hair again and he falls still.

"All right, well," Luke claps his hands together, then loops an arm around Gabriel's shoulder, "Let's go. We'll do some sight seeing, stop and get some dinner, then off to the airport to head home."

Gabriel shakes his head, "No. No, no way. You think I'm just going to go trotting after you after all this?"

"Uh, yeah, I do actually. Did you think you were going to do something else?"

"I'm not leaving him."

Luke just laughs, a little, and shakes his head, "Look, Gabriel. Brother. Let's be smart here. Abaddon's going to take care of all this. She's going to slit his stupid throat. She's going to carve out his molars. Cut off his finger tips. Then she's gonna wrap him in a tarp. She's gonna drive him out into the middle of nowhere and she's going to toss him into one of the lakes with cinder blocks tied to him. Maybe they'll find him. More likely they won't. And that'll be it."

Oh, damnit.

"I said no."

Luke's hand settles onto Gabriel's shoulder and squeezes, "I gotta know, Gabriel. What do you see in that? Because, I see a scum sucking bottom feeding piece of trash. You're better than that. You deserve better."

Gabriel jerks away from his touch, away from the hand on his shoulder and Crowley manages to sit up on one elbow, despite Abaddon's hand in his hair, her nails sharp points against his scalp.

"Doesn't matter. You're not going to hurt him. She's not, either. I..." he sweeps his tongue over his lips and casts a glance toward Crowley. Their eyes meet, briefly, and Crowley has this awful feeling that Gabriel is going to do something immensely stupid right about-

"I'm...y'know. Kinda in love with him."

Now.

Abaddon laughs first. Then Luke does.

"Oh. You're joking, right?"

It does sound like a joke, even to Crowley, and he's not sure why he threw that down as a reason, as some kind of justification for this whole stupid mess but he did. It's out there now, out in the world, and he can't take it back. Gabriel's expression doesn't waver. Luke's does – the amused smile sort of melts into his look of complete disgust, then fury, then quiet acceptance and he loops his arm around Gabriel's shoulders to look at Crowley,

"Okay. Okay. Say you're not joking. Does he love you back?"

There are three sets of eyes watching him now. Abaddon even lets go of his hair.

Crowley struggles with a response and he probably takes way too long to reply. He does love Gabriel. He thinks he does, at least – he's never done love, he's never had a chance but each second that ticks on, Gabriel looks more and more disappointed. Finally, Luke squeezes his shoulder.

"I think that's your answer, don't you?"

Gabriel just shakes his head and looks at his brother. When he speaks, his voice is quietly accepting; "...fine. I'll go with you. But don't kill him. Promise me that much, Luke. Please."

Luke's hand comes up to smooth Gabriel's hair back before he pulls him into a hug.

"I promise."

When he lets go, he starts to steer Gabriel toward the door, grabbing his duffel bag off the floor as he goes, swinging it over one shoulder. They walk out together and Crowley's up to his feet almost immediately, despite the throb in his head from when Luke hit him. He's just curling his hand around the doorknob when he hears Abaddon snarl 'oh no you don't'.

Then something hard makes contact with the back of his head and the world goes dark around him.


End file.
